Ready or not, here we come
by bravefan
Summary: Clay has been pushing for more, more ambition, more opportunity and being more than just the new guy anymore. However when a mission goes sideways he suddenly finds himself in a familiar situation and dealing with more than he ever wanted.
1. Chapter 1

_Set early season 3 before the new guy arrives, because I (much like Clay) am not so sure about him yet ;)_

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Jason peers up from his paperwork watching carefully as Ray cautiously makes his way through the minefield of hammocks and discarded gear.

When his second finally reaches the bench he slowly and somewhat awkwardly eases himself down making an obvious effort not to jar his arm while settling into the next seat over.

He eyes the newly acquired sling now firmly strapping Ray's arm in place and frowns "Shoulder?"

"Collarbone." Ray corrects him with a put-upon sigh.

Jason considers that, somewhat relieved it isn't the man's newly reconstructed shoulder, but also quickly doing the math on the standard recovery time for a broken bone.

6 weeks minimum, probably more like 8, and that's if they are lucky and all heals up well with no additional PT necessary.

It's unfortunate for sure, but he works hard to keep it in perspective because in their line of work there are a lot more permanent problems to have.

So after a second he quirks his lip and offers "Football tackle wasn't a good idea I guess."

Ray rolls his eyes "Saved your ass didn't it."

Jason scoffs at that, mostly because he is expected to and not so much that he can really disagree with the premise

"I had it under control."

They both know he didn't.

And that he probably won't ever concede the point, or even say thank you, but that doesn't mean it's not true and that he isn't.

"If by under control you mean about to get stabbed while you reloaded then yeah, definitely completely under control."

Ray shuts up after that, deservedly taking the last exasperated word.

Jason watches out of the corner of his eye as Ray shifts uncomfortably in place, trying to find a better way to settle in and then finally gives up and sits up straighter evidently resigned to waiting for the painkillers to kick in.

Aiming for a distraction Jason throws out something he knows will get a reaction out of the man "Guess you won't be able to hide this injury huh?"

Ray facial expression quickly sours into a less than amused glower and when he doesn't respond Jason follows it up innocently "What?...Too soon?

His second continues to glare at him and Jason would be worried if he hadn't know Ray more than long enough to know when he can and can't push certain buttons.

Not to mention the face Ray is giving him is very much the same disapproving one his mother used to give him when really she was laughing on the inside at his antics.

Still, he offers a partially contrite "Ok, fine. Maybe a little. My bad. But regardless we are going to miss you out there, team was really in a groove lately. It's a shame."

Ray hold out his righteous anger bit just long enough to make Jason second guess. To wonder if he actually struck a nerve he shouldn't have and if he is going to have to try a more sincere apology.

Finally, with impeccable timing Ray finally breaks the silence when Jason is just starting to sweat a little. He lets him off the hook with a bittersweet smile and an apology of his own.

"Sorry man, you know I'd rather be out there with you guys in a heartbeat." Ray gives an exaggerated mock shudder "you have _no idea_ how many tea parties are in my future now."

That idea makes Jason genuinely laugh.

RJ's recent fascination with Jameelah's old dolls and hosting tea parties in their treehouse has been a source of great entertainment to the team. Mostly just because Ray had been so ecstatic when Jamee had mostly skipped that phase so the team was really enjoying watching him have to suffer through it now somewhat unexpectedly the second time around. He knows Ray has been hoping it will pass quickly so naturally the team has all gone out of their way to encourage it and prolong it because that's just what brothers do. Hell even Sonny crawled on up there with RJ and stuck his pinky out as directed while sipping his imaginary Earl grey tea.

Jason drew the line at participating but he wasn't above digging out Alana's old set of China and donating it to the cause. RJ's squeal of excitement and the equally unenthused reaction from his father were both worth the small pinch of pain in digging through some of the old boxes and memories. Actually Ray's exasperation was really the icing on the cake because Jason still remembers the god-awful plastic drum set Ray got Mikey one Christmas. Payback is a bitch.

While Jason is not so fondly reminiscing about just how much racket a 4 year old can make with a child size snare drum and plastic mallets and remembering those early mornings in bed with Alana, pillows over their ears, cursing Ray Perry's very existence in their lives, Ray has taken the opportunity to do what he does best and redirect their focus back onto what matters, the real issue at hand here, how his absence will affect the team.

"You know, maybe it's not the worst timing in the world".

Now that has Jason stumped, not exactly sure what Ray is trying to hint at because in his mind there isn't ever really great timing to lose his number two.

Those six months where he banished Ray to Green Team after his surgery made it more evident than he will maybe ever admit just how much he relies on his number two to glue their team together. To allow him to focus his energy on pushing the envelope and innovating with a hundred percent certainty that his team is ready for the challenge and healthy on all fronts.

Sure enough Ray spears him with an oh so perceptive look.

"Come on, we both know the kids been chomping at the bit for a little more responsibility. Nipping at my heels, bucking for a little more opportunity."

Jason nods slowly in agreement. There is no denying that.

"And you and I both know he wanted the big shot last mission, and that his game plan for this one might have actually worked better than mine." He gestures with his good hand to his new uniform accessory.

Now it's Jason's turn to shrug.

There may be some truth to what Ray said about their mission plan, there may not be. Jason isn't ready to Monday morning quarterback things quite yet. Time, ISR and their usual methodical review process will tell However there will be time and place for that in the AAR's and those are still a few more hours and a few more beers away for a reason.

Instead he diplomatically voices a non-committal "Maybe, maybe not"

But Ray is on a roll now and probably well used to having to bash Jason over the head with most things so he carries on undeterred and continues trying to make his point. "He thinks he's ready for more and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get it".

Jason considers that, taking his time and stretching out in his seat. He twists and turns slowly side to side trying to loosen some of the muscles in his low back that seem to be perpetually seized up these days.

"Is he actually ready though?"

Ray gives him a sharp look. And Jason gets it. He isn't sure himself where the hesitation is coming from all of a sudden or even where that question came from.

Especially since the kid's done it before. Was thrust into the role when Ray was on hiatus from the team after his shoulder injury. Except if he's honest with himself now Jason isn't sure if he tapped the kid because he was ready or because he knew that choice would add extra insult to his chosen punishment for Ray.

Clay has more than proven himself from a skills and tactics perspective. Spenser is a pipehitter through and through, surpassing his father's legacy by a long shot. It isn't even close in anyone's mind. Jason has no doubt that one day he will make a formidable team leader. He just isn't sure the kid is ready for it yet.

There are still some elements of being a number two or even a number one that he isn't sure the kid truly comprehends. Clay's come a long way in finding his place with the team and yet Jason isn't sure the kid can add even some of the intangibles that Ray does. Find the perfect balance between leading when needed, supporting at other times, and always building up his teammates. It isn't enough to just do your job well. It isn't enough to just make the big shots and bring good ideas to the table.

Case and point when Ray was struggling last year the absence of his usual support seeped into all aspects of team life and things slowly began to degrade. Jason greatly regrets not seeing that his friend was floundering sooner, both for his friend's sake and for the good of the team. Clay's injury and then almost losing Ray afterwards was certainly not the way that situation should have worked itself out. He should have been better. Should have done more earlier.

And maybe that's playing a part in his indecisiveness too. Consciously he knows it's been almost a year since Clay returned to the team and that Spenser has more than proven that he is back to full strength. Yet on some other level Jason can't help the lingering feeling that maybe he's not and that doubt probably bleeds into him subconsciously babying the kid a bit since he's returned. Bravo 6 has certainly hinted at that possibility a few times and good naturedly and sometimes less so called out his teammates for doing the same. So the more he thinks about it the more he has to admit the possibility that some of his apprehension might be coming from a desire to protect Clay and avoid over-burdening him too soon. Warranted concern or not he can't deny the real temptation to just go with a safer, easier choice. Both Sonny and Trent have covered in that role before even if neither are particularly keen to do it.

Ray is watching him closely, probably accurately surmising most of the ongoing internal debate and the rabbit holes of indecision Jason is spiralling down. He apparently deems an intervention necessary and interjects softly "Jace…"

"Yeah?"

"He's ready."

Jason inhales deeply, mentally slamming the door on any emotions with years of practice and tossing any and all baggage back in the closet where it belongs. That done he makes one last careful assessment of Clay's capabilities and weighs what's best for the team and then exhales slowly "I guess there's only one way to find out isn't there?"

Ray nods in agreement, and with an air of satisfaction that makes Jason determined not to let his second off the hook quite so easy.

"You'll have to give him a pep talk though. Get him in line and get his head screwed on straight."

"Isn't that your job?"

"Hey, you are the one abandoning me for the next few weeks. Least you could do is carry a little weight."

Ray tilts his head thoughtfully, pretending to give it serious consideration "I suppose that's fair."

Jason goes to bump Ray's shoulder and thankfully remembers at the last moment aborting the movement and giving his knee a gentle bump instead. Then he pulls away slightly leaning the other way to dig into the nearby cooler. Jason takes a quick pointed glance around before fishing out two beers and handing one to Ray.

"Don't let Trent see."

"Cheers to that brother"

They clink their cans and then fall into companionable silence enjoying their first couple sips. After a while Ray's beer gets set down beside him and not too long after that his eyes start to drift closed. Jason can practically see the painkillers (and booze) kick in allowing his second to relax back into the netting.

Jason continues slowly savoring his beer for a long while after. He watches the condensation pool on the side of the ice cold can, forming into a few errant drops that slide down the can and over his finger. He slowly rotates the can, tilting and trying to change the angle so the drops will meet and merge as one. When he finally finishes he tries to settle in for the last few hours except his brain refuses to stop thinking making sleep an elusive concept for the time being. Jason scans the interior of the plane, skipping from man to man until he finally finds Clay's hammock set up in its usual spot. He watches the fabric sway slightly back and forth and tries to ignore the unease that spikes up again.

After a few moments Jason forces himself to tear his gaze away and focuses in on Ray's deep, even breathing next to him. He closes his eyes, slowing his own cadence to match and taking comfort while he still can in the familiar gentle snores that he has fallen asleep next too on many a plane journey over the years.

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_A little bit of a table setter chapter. Some ground work for whats to come._


	2. Chapter 2

**_***Trigger Warning - References to Human Trafficking Activities***_**

"Hands above your head...Hold them straight"

Clay cringes watching the scene unfold from a short distance away. This is not going to go well.

He braces himself, waiting for the situation to step off, unsure of how exactly he can intervene without making things worse.

To his great surprise Sonny begrudgingly obeys instructions and raises his arms, extending them up above his head as directed.

"Straighter" the officer's voice is monotone, seemingly unaware of the hornets nest he is poking.

"They . are . straight" Sonny's tone is a clear and biting warning to anyone in the vicinity that the Texan is about 5 seconds away from the end of his very limited ability to play nice.

Clay on the other hand grins and waves cheerily at his teammate, a man on the edge and probably about to lose it in the middle of the airport security screening.

He mimes taking a photo as Sonny holds his position, legs spread, arms stretched above his head, or at least as much as the heavily muscle bound man's shoulders will allow. Sonny drops his hand quickly to send a definitive gesture in Clay's direction and then when chided brings them back up with a huff of frustration.

The screening officer either figures out that his current victim really is actually this inflexible, or perhaps subconsciously senses the imminent threat to his life, because he finally gets on with it and pushes the button for the full body scanner to do his thing.

A few rotations later and Sonny is allowed to clamber out of the chamber and is made to stand on the mat awaiting and all clear of his scan. Bravo 3 shifts his weight from foot to foot in agitation muttering complaints about torpedo tubes and radiation waves that are loud enough for Clay and anyone in a 10 ft radius to hear.

Clay ignores him though, instead scanning the room for the rest of their team. His eyes catch immediately on a frustrated Jason stuck in line behind a large family with several small children and more strollers and contraptions than arms. A few lines over and already passed the scanner he can see Trent arguing with the screener over what looks like a small pair of medical scissors the medic evidently felt he couldn't go onboard without. Clay can hear their normally unflappable medic's voice raising with each argument varying between the fact that the scissors are part of a first aid kit, are barely sharp enough to cut gauze, and that he could find 15 other ways to kills someone on board with only the emesis bag. Unsurprisingly the security screeners are looking more and more concerned by the second.

A sharp bark catches his attention and draws his gaze over to the opposite side of security he sees Brock stuck in his own argument with airport personnel about Cerb. The normally quiet man is emphatically pointing to the documentation Clay assumes indicates Cerberus' status as a working dog. He knows Brock regularly flies with the dog when they are on leave to visit his parents and that their K-9 officer regularly gets to enjoy a comfy spot in the emergency exit row with his handler rather than below board with the rest of the regular mutts. It appears the airline agents are not being quite so understanding this time and he can see the faint flush of colour rising up around Brock's neck, the only indication you will ever find to suggest Bravo 5 is agitated.

Sonny, finally gets the all clear and a half hearted wave through. He storms away from security and brushes past Clay's observation post in a hurry with a muttered "this is why we don't fly commercial….. I need a damn drink"

Clay looks back around at the chaos his team is causing in their various locations and can't help but think that his friend isn't wrong. There probably is a very good reason their team usually travels on their own military transport. In fact in all the missions he's run with Bravo he can only think of one other where they have had to abandon their hammocks and beer coolers for too small leg room, awkward small talk and tomato juice. The last time was for the team to arrive with as minimal presence as possible into Serbia to work on the combined task force with the local intelligence experts. This time he is less on board because as he understands this whole snaffu is the Portugeese Government's way of saving face. Supposedly it's much more palatable for people to see a team of "consultants" arriving on a lufthansa flight than a military plane dropping off a highly specialized military team to come in and save the day.

At this rate though it seems like those "consultants" are going to cause an international incident before they even leave the United States. Clay tries to decide if any of the possible ways this could go wrong will require paperwork that Jason can gleefully dump on him in what he's pretty sure is hazing seeing as he's never seen Ray doing any before.

Resigning himself to that future headache makes his decision all too easy and he abandons the rest of his team to sort their shit out and follows after the ornery Texan to find a bar before they have to board.

In the end the flight is actually smoother than he expected. He lucks out and gets an aisle seat and the middle seat amazingly goes unoccupied stays vacant next to him. He ends up with an extra armrest and the ability to get up and stretch his legs as often as he wants. Clay uses his unexpected freedom to wander the plane and smirk at Sonny who ended up wedged in the middle seat with a crying baby in the row behind him and is the very picture of misery. He returns to his own seat with a grin, stretches his legs over into the middle and tries to imagine he is swinging in his hammock.

He wakes up when the plane touches down, surprised to have dozed off. Being reunited with and going through the copious amounts of red tape to clear their gear also goes surprisingly smoothly considering their checked baggage holds a lot more than just clothes and toiletries.

They walk out of the Lisbon airport into a bright sunny day with people and cars bustling all around them. The team proceeds to their designated pick up point, trying and failing to look inconspicuous. Even in plain clothes, with just the team and Cerb eyes are constantly drifting their way. They shift in place awkwardly wishing their pick up would hurry up. Eric and the support team arrived yesterday so one of them should be here shortly to help them get organized and to the center they will be operating out of.

Sure enough a shiny black van pulls up and honks and the team drags their shit toward it in a hurry eager to get out of the limelight. As they get close they can make out the driver's silhouette through the tinted windows and see his arm reach up to the control panel above his head. At his push, the side doors slide open and the trunk raises Trent lets out a low whistle, impressed by the bells and whistles. They waste no time loading up and as Sonny throws his last bag on top he asks "You thinking of trading your bike in for one of these then Trent?"

Trent doesn't dignify Sonny's question with a response. Instead he sidesteps and cuts his antagonizer off forcing Bravo 3 to stumble. By the time Sonny recovers Trent is settling himself comfortably into the last bucket seat with a satisfied smirk. He waits until Sonny is squeezing his way through the narrow gap in the middle to get to the back seat and then stretches out comfortably "Nothing wrong with a mini-van, they have plenty of room for the kids and dogs in the back."

With a loud bark Cerb jumps off Brock's lap on the other bucket seat and clambors back to claim the middle spot between Clay and Sonny. The dog sits proudly and leans over to try to lick Sonny in the face, a gesture that is dodged at the last minute and produces another round of colourful commentary.

The car erupts into laughter leaving Clay once again wondering just how much English that dog really understands.

Their furry teammate's comedic timing is interrupted by Jason opening the front door and going to climb into the passenger seat. He looks up and then stops abruptly and lets out a loud "what the fuck" that causes everyone to tense and reach for weapons they don't have.

A familiar laugh, thoroughly unexpected and out of place in a van in Lisbon, has them relaxing and glancing around in confusion.

Clay's head snaps up, quickly recognizing none other than their very own Ray Perry in the driver's seat, grinning back at them in the rear view mirror as he steers the van smoothly away from the curb.

"Blackburn and I thought you guys might enjoy a familiar face after the long ride. And while Naima and I have so far avoided what is probably our destiny of having a minivan, I have to say this one isn't so bad, its kinda tricked out."

The van erupts into greetings and then some more laughter and good natured ribbing about car choices and Ray's destiny as a minivan driving soccer dad.

Clay smiles along but sits in stunned silence having a bit of trouble regaining his footing enough to fully participate. He isn't sure what's more unexpected Ray here in Portugal or Ray just here _period _when he isn't supposed to be cleared for another 2 weeks minimum.

Sure his arm is out of the sling now but medically speaking there is no way he could be cleared yet. It's only been 4 weeks since his injury. The thing is that they also haven't really seen the man in that time period either. Spinups kept them busy and the brass found all sorts of creative ways to make use of Ray in his downtime. He sent them a few updates (and beach pictures) while he was on a training excursion with Green Team down in Florida. Then another from a specialized training course up at Norfolk. But still, he can't be cleared yet can he? Is this his way of announcing his return to the team? He can't be cleared, but why the hell else would be here though?

He tunes back in to hear Ray giving all the answers he was lacking in his confused wayward rambling mental detective work. Ray explains that he is here working with Blackburn and Davis as an advisor to the havoc base team. Something about building competencies and lending expertise while he still isn't fully cleared.

Clay's stomach unclenches a few notches

And then he feels guilty for his initial less than welcoming and slightly panicked reaction. He should be happy that Ray is back. And he is. It's not like he wanted the man not to come back or anything like that. He has just enjoyed testing himself over the last few weeks and had his mind set on a one or two more missions. As much as he doesn't want Ray to be sidelined with an injury he can't deny he likes the opportunity it presents.

The level of elation from the rest of the team at Ray's return also stings a bit more than it should. He tells himself he's being immature, that their excitement to see Ray is not a reflection of him doing a bad job. He tries not to take it personally. To appreciate that his friend and mentor is back and not read anything past that. And he manages with that…. Most of the time.

He reminds himself that he already had a couple successful missions as bravo two. Two short ones and one more extended one where he thought he filled in Ray's big shoes fairly well.

Clay had tried his best to follow their regular number two's parting advice to him. When it had become obvious Ray wasn't going to roll with the team for a few weeks he caught up to Clay at the gym and gave him either a pep talk, or a warning, Clay still wasn't really sure which one. Maybe some of both. Regardless, he heard the man's message loud and clear. Number two has to support number one. Full stop. No exceptions. Clay knows he can at times push the boundaries and is sometimes a little overly prone to starting with the assumption that he's right and someone else is wrong, but he's done his best to curb his natural instincts to question and contradict even if on a few occasions he felt like maybe there was another angle they should have considered.

He thought he was doing all right.

But now the insecure part of his brain tosses out the idea that maybe Ray is actually here because he wasn't doing as well as he thought That maybe Jason set this all up because he just couldn't wait another couple weeks to get Ray back by his side. That maybe Clay wasn't enough for him or for the team.

Except that that is just stupid and completely paranoid.

Jason had clearly been just as surprised as the rest of the team.

"Hey, Earth to Clay. Anybody home?"

Sonny's voice breaks him free from the rapidly spinning hamster wheel of panic that his brain was running loops around. He shakes his head, trying to clear it.

"Yeah, sorry didn't sleep much on the plane"

Quinn's eyes narrow at him, scrutinizing for a second and then with a shrug thankfully lets it go rather than prying further. Sonny takes the bulshit excuse in stride and runs with it.

"Well get a power nap in then cuz Ray was just telling us about these alleys full of tiny little bars, everybody just gets their drinks and mingles in the streets. Sounds like we may have to check it out at some point."

Clay nods and tries to portray an acceptable amount of enthusiasm about that. It does sound cool. And it will be nice to have the whole team back together again, especially in a place like this. Hopefully their schedule allows for some downtime after they get the job done.

Here's hoping for a smooth mission, where he can show Ray that he took his words to heart and is filing in his shoes well.

He closes his eyes and leans back into the seat. Taking a few deep breaths and trying to shake off the unease thats ramping back up again.

He is happy Ray is back.

He is.

It's just going to be different now with the man here watching his every move. Judging. Comparing. Being evaluated by someone who does the job effortlessly and flawlessly since long before he was even a part of this team.

It's like a final test he didn't know he had to study for.

It turns out it doesn't matter anyways because when they get there it becomes apparent that they are going nowhere anytime soon.

The pop quiz gets postponed.

Their mission is on standby pending approval.

And initially Clay is grateful for the reprieve. For a chance to settle and get his head on straight.

Except as they are stalled for hours and then what turns into days it becomes clear he isn't the only one battling some personal demons on this one.

Normally extra time in a well developed and generally very safe country would be paradise, an unexpected gem of a mission. Gucci in all aspects and certainly a rarity compared to most of the places they get sent too.

But things start to unravel quickly as they stand around waiting and it's not hard to tell why.

The picture of the Nigerian president's young daughter on the tac board is a solemn reminder of the stakes here. Of what every second of delay is likely costing.

This poor girl, and who knows how many others like her, was in the wrong place at the wrong time and somehow found herself caught up in a renowned firearm trafficking networks newest money making venture. Years of successfully moving guns and missiles through Europe and down into the heart of the middle East and Africa was apparently no longer good enough. Even transnational criminal organizations feel the need to grow and evolve it would appear. This group is now testing the waters of the much more lucrative, much more profitable movement of human beings with disturbing efficiency and a reckless regard for human lives.

Intel tracked a shipment of approximately 40 women, if you can call them that, arriving into the Lisbon port yesterday. Based on the timeline and what Intel has been able to piece together of the networks major transportation routes and methods they are fairly confident the president's daughter should be in it.

They also have a location. Well two locations actually, both identified as a part of the commodity chain that makes use of Lisbon as a port city. The first one and the current focus of their attention is the arrival center where the containers are being brought once they come off the water from overseas. This first location was described to them as essentially a freight forwarding center in that its being used to hide the true destination and movement of the containers much the same way people use re-shippers for parcels that they don't want connected back to them. Intel has so far been unable to prove whether or not the freight company is aware of what they are receiving and moving. Smart money and a cynical world view says yes. Another thing that's still frustratingly unclear is exactly how long the shipments stay at this arrival point before moving on to the next warehouse less than a mile and a half away where they are presumably staged and prepared for further distribution to locations all across Europe and to a new life that awaits them.

The work that's been done so far to map out the commodity chain is impressive even if the terminology used rubs Clay the wrong way. He grits his teeth through most of the briefing listening to human beings repeatedly referred to as "a shipment", or "the commodity". He knows the analysts mean well and that distancing themselves from the emotion is what helps them breakdown the situation effectively. Still he greatly appreciates when Lisa takes over and starts talking about things from a tactical perspective and actually makes reference to the lives that are at risk.

The problem is that the Portuguese government don't seem to quite grasp that concept either, that lives are on the line here. Or perhaps they do and they just don't care. From the muttering he's overheard and the evident frustration on their usually unflappable team of officers, it appears to be more of the latter. The government and its diplomacy efforts with Nigeria means they don't want them to move in and risk disrupting the known chain until they have definitively located the president's daughter. Because heaven forbid they save hundreds of current and future victims but lose the one who's father matters the most politically. Lisa and her team are locked in a battle trying to explain grey terms like supply chain analysis and confidence estimates to a bunch of uninformed politicians who would rather deal in black and white and only care about the analysis of the risk that could blow back on them if this goes sideways. Still if anyone can find a way to meld the analytics, the politics and the true human cost and convince a bunch of paper pushers and diplomates to pull their heads out of their asses, he has faith in Lisa and Blackburn to get it done. To make them understand that there are still some gaping holes and unknowns about the pipeline including no shortage of uncertainty about how and where the victims get moved once they leave Lisbon. The harsh reality is that if they miss the window here they may never find them again. The "shipments" may be long gone to places where even tier one operators can't help them.

And yet in the meantime they wait.

And try not to think about what the delays mean.

Of what kind of vile conditions the victims are probably being held in held in.

Of the possibility of the containers slipping through their grasp.

Of the people inside running out of food, or water, or suffocating.

Of young women and probably even some children locked in a container. Of the President's daughter and other girls just like her, like Emma, like Jameleeh who have all been wrenched from their parents and had their lives endangered to turn a quick profit that will fund God knows what other atrocities.

As the days stretch on those doubts starts to fester and any and all good will fostered by Ray's return to the team evaporates quickly.

Jason is a ball of energy fired up with a hell of a short fuse. He paces, he rants, and he bites the head off of anyone who dares to interact with him.

Even Ray's sunny disposition darkens and sours. The man spends hours cooped up with Eric and Davis, throwing himself into his new role and obsessively trying to find some angle that will get the information they need to get this op to be a "go".

Clay doesn't have a daughter but even still the concept of this mission sets his skin crawling. He understands their desperation to get moving and doesn't begrudge Jason for being a little extra snippy. Or for taking it out on his team and anyone else who happens to get in his way.

Instead he channels his inner Ray and tries to run interference a bit. See if he can soften and defuse some situations before they fully catch fire. He's just not quite as talented at it so most of the time it usually means that whatever blowback there is ends up aimed at him. He's not sure if Ray just usually bears that burden,or if this is a special case, or hell if Ray is just next level talented that he can somehow divert Jason from his targets without ending up as collateral damage. He stows that question away and resolves to watch more carefully in the future and learn some better strategies to deal and until then he just tells himself to get a thick skin and not to take it personally.

He does however have a little harder time brushing it off when Jason spends all his time holeing up with Blackburn, and Davis and Ray and forgets to bring him along. Or when he does remember to but Clay still ends up standing there awkwardly and basically invisible watching Jason immediately fall back into old habits of using Ray as a sounding board instead of his current number two.

He tells himself to let it go. To stop worrying about himself because they have bigger problems right now. Clay focuses his energy on the team instead trying to keep everyone occupied and out of trouble while they wait.

It's a poor compensation but they do now have time to check out the impressive cultural scene in Lisbon. They go out and try to enjoy the vibe of the locals and tourists all intermingled in the cobblestone streets aimlessly wandering with their drinks from bar to bar. People litter the alleys enjoying the music and evening air blissfully unaware of the cost of this particular passage of time. The four of them aren't so lucky. Even a few drinks in he is still thinking containers and redtape. However once Brock and Sonny discover a strong new appreciation for a Portugese Brandy called Medronhos, Trent and Clay are sufficiently distracted and have their hands full enough trying to keep the pair out of trouble. They impressively manage to corral them both home safely and before curfew (or close enough) so him and Trent take that as a small win for the day.

When the next day also brings no hint of movement, Clay finds a place where you can rent little yellow go-kart cars that look like something straight out of SuperMarioKart. He somehow convinces Sonny and Brock to go with him to ride what Trent deems videogame death traps. Jason also declines, opting to insult the organizer rather than the machinery. Clay isn't deterred though and takes gleeful pleasure in using his not at all very good Portuguese to ask the owner to give him and Sonny a two person one. He then blames a language barrier and takes great enjoyment in forcing Sonny to ride in the sidecar like a child. The man barely fits, is not at all comfortable, and keeps up a steady stream of impressive language as they whizz around town on a GPS guided tour that they mostly ignore in favour of their own creative route.

On day three they go on a self directed Egg Tart Tour. Clay put his research skills to use and found five bakeries said to have the best pastries in the city and they go out taste testing. This time he manages to convince Trent to come along, it is a scientific experiment after all.

They are part way through the third and best by far batch when their phones announce the long awaited news that they have been greenlit.

Finally.

They return to base and the team bustles around getting ready. Its barely even necessary though because the reality is they have been prepped for days. They are just re-doing it now out of habit, and because it helps pass the time and takes some of the sting out of the last agonizing wait for darkness to fall.

Clay's also had those same few days to get his head on straight. To put aside his insecurities and petty jealousies and remind himself there is only one thing that matters on this mission. And it's up on that whiteboard. And it's all the other faces that aren't. It's certainly not his ambition, or his ego…. Those don't matter. They can't matter.

He tightens up his gear, loading and locking with complete efficiency. Its rhythmic and soothing. Something he's done a thousand times and will hopefully do a thousand more. He looks around and sees the same determination and focus in his teammates eyes and is satisfied with that. The team is ready.

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_Apologies for the delay. Got a bit stuck on this one. My brain wanted to write parts of every other chapter BUT this one. So if there is any consolation the rest of the story is fairly well fleshed out now. _

_I promise the action and of course some whump is coming next chapter. _

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	3. Chapter 3

Jason lays out the plan again as a quick reminder.

It's a simple enough assault.

They are expecting some basic firepower, a handful of armed guards. Nothing too crazy. Although the estimate of numbers is just that, an estimate. And it's coming from foreign analysts from the SIRP assigned to work with them through this process so he trusts it even less. There could be more, and they will just have to deal with it if there is. They will also have the ERT team of the local police on standby a block away to assist with containment once they breach. A luxury they don't often get and a perk of actually being in a country with permission for once.

The only slight complication is how to is how to do the assault in a timely enough fashion to secure the hostages before they have a chance to start killing them.

In a perfect world they would have a bit more information about what to expect on the inside, especially given how long the operations team has been forced to sit around been sitting around twiddling their thumbs. But they don't and that's just how things are. He's learned a long time ago to pick his battles, sometimes its worth pushing back for more information, sometimes it isn't, and sometimes it's just not even possible.

Given the already long delay, additional information is unlikely to come with more time. If they weren't able to get a clear picture of what goes on inside in the last three days, four is unlikely to be any different. But that extra time could be costly on other fronts. So at this point it's just on them to figure out a way to get the job done. It's why they pay them the big bucks (except not really), to operate in the dark, to work in undesirable situations, to overcome odds. And hell sometimes Jason will admit he likes the extra challenge.

They long ago decided on a simultaneous breach from back and front of the building. Classic, no need to reinvent the wheel. As far as they know their presence is unknown, and unexpected so it should work.

He quickly reviews the new information, there really isn't much more and nothing that jumps out at him as a reason to deviate from what they already drew up.

Across the table an irregular movement registers in his peripheral vision. He glances briefly up from the diagrams and catches Clay shifting uncomfortably in place also staring thoughtfully at the diagram and area maps with a slight frown forming.

He finds himself watching his acting number two for a second. Something pinging on his radar as being not quite right. Spenser's mannerisms are off from what they normally are pre-mission. Usually Clay is the picture of confidence and composure pre-mission, brimming with excitement and raring to go. Now Clay's brow furrows as he reviews the data in front of them and he chews on his lip, something Jason knows well to be a sign that something's all stuck up in the kids craw. It's usually a telltale sign for him that he needs to have a heart to heart with the kid about something, or better yet convince Ray to do it for him.

Thinking more about it the kid's been somewhat quieter than normal over the last few days as they have been planning and preparing. Hasn't offered as much into the discussion as normal. No questions, no ideas, no playing devil's advocate. Actually come to think of it, there has been less of that in general since he stepped into the number two role which is strange because Jason would have expected that pendulum to swing the other way with the temporary promotion giving the kid a little extra confidence and a lot less filter.

It couldn't be the same as Ray, he knows that, nor should it be. He and Clay have been figuring out their dynamic through trial and error over the last few missions to find what works and it hasn't always been completely smooth although it's gone well enough. But for his part he knows the changes and the learning curves are necessary even if they aren't necessarily comfortable or easy. And yeah, he's self aware enough to realize that with Ray's presence on this mission he's been drifting back to the allure of the known and the regular and maybe relying on his longtime friend more than he should be. His relationship with Spenser is strong, and growing stronger everyday but it is still miles away from the easy give and take and the strong foundation of trust that can only be built through years and years of having to rely on each other. Jason can put the pieces together and realize that some of Clay's quietness is probably his own fault. He's not completely oblivious to the fact that he could have done a better job at making sure Clay was still being included even when Ray was also involved. He was just a bit in his head, tunnel visioned on getting the op greenlit. On saving the mothers and daughters in that container. He's sure Ray is saving up a good lecture for him later. Because even while he was acting in a new role, Jason is sure he still noticed.

Clay raises his head sheepishly, almost as if he knows he is the current object of Jason's scrutiny. Jason holds his gaze and lifts an eyebrow in question, offering him the chance to say whatever is on his mind. Clay studies him, glances down at the map, and then back up at Jason. Waging some kind of internal battle that now has peaked Jason's curiosity.

Clay opens his mouth and then closes it.

And now it's Bravo one's turn to frown. He's never never known the kid to hesitate to share a criticism or question and finds it strangely disconcerting. He can appreciate the irony of wishing Clay would speak up after they spent so many months and drank so many cases of beer back at the beginning trying to teach him to do the opposite. To think before he spoke and to find the right time and place. But he is a long way from the greenie now, a long way from Bravo 6 the rookie, and this is the right time and place. If there is something to say the kid needs to say it, especially as Bravo 2. Jason wants all the information, any possible problems on the table before it's too late to fix them.

"Piss or get off the pot Spenser."

Spenser hesitates again and Jason tries to decide how much he wants to push this.

The decision gets made for him when Blackburn enters the room and announces "Vans are here"

The time for hesitation or discussion is past, its wheels up so to speak.

It's a short drive to the target and they are in position in less than 15 minutes, crouched in the shadows approximately 50 meters back from the main entrance of the warehouse.

"Havoc I pass Aspen"

The streets are quiet and the building looks abandoned save a few trailers parked in loading docks overnight. There is no activity around them. No unloading. No security that he would expect. It looks thoroughly abandoned for the night.

Strange.

They hold their position. Watching carefully. Trying to pick the right moment. Although if there is no outer patrols that moment is certainly going to be a lot easier to find.

Clay's voice in his earpiece startles him slightly "You think they all went home for the night or what?"

His number two's tone is light and casual and he's tried to make a joke of it even though the underlying concern in his question is plain as day and heard loud and clear. Even without with Clay and Brock camped out around back at the rear of the building Jason easily picks up on the uncertainty.

To his left Sunny chimes in with a barely hushed "Kids got a point."

And Jason has to admit, he's starting to have a few questions about this all as well. Number one is where the hell are all the people. He is almost ready to key his comms and demand to know if Intel sent them to the wrong damn building when Clay breaks the silence to answer his own question.

'Never mind. Hold, we have two approaching from the southwest corner. Appear to be doing a perimeter sweep."

There is a pause and then he follows up.

"They are coming your way, should be in view for you any second."

Sure enough two tangos appear at the eastern side of the building and come around in front to re-enter at the main entrance. Their paths are a little too purposeful, their eyes a little too alert and their their low back a little too bulky to be innocents who just happen to be there or your regular rent-a-security gaurd making a mandated lap before going back to nap in the car. Clay is right this has every marking of a pair doing a security patrol.

The first tango enters the building quickly but the other turns and surveys around standing pat in entrance way. The muted street light illuminates his skin almost painfully white in their nods and they can see every feature. The man stands for another second scanning the streets. crouched behind a building Jason shrinks back slightly into the darkness and feels his team do the same as his gaze sweeps in their direction. As the man turns his head from side to side Jason's focus is drawn to the heavy scar that runs from jawbone to chin. He keeps searching the area for another minute although Jason isn't sure what he expects hopes to see the dark street with the naked eye, and then finally he turns and follows his buddy inside.

Jason eyes around him checking to make sure everyone is ready. Now is as good a time as they are going to get. Before another patrol can get sent out.

To his left and right Trent and Sonny give grim nods, tightening their holds on their weapons of choice. This moment has been too long coming for most of them.

"Two you set?"

"Rear team in position" Clay's confirmation comes immediately.

He is already up and moving as he keys his coms.

" Execute. Execute."

The team moves seamlessly into position to breach.

Trent prepares the charge and then steps away, giving Jason a nod and holding in position waiting for the "go".

Jason waits one, just to be sure Clay and Brock have had ample time to do the same and then calls it.

"Breaching in 3-2-1. Execute"

Trent blows the door and Sonny is pushing through the opening in almost the same instant. Jason follows closely behind with Trent falling in at the rear.

They clear room by room as they sweep, working their way inwards and meeting minimal resistance. The one or two fighters they find almost feel perfunctory and are quickly dispatched with complete efficiency. He hears a tight grouping of shots ring out in the rear suggesting Clay's team is doing the same.

It almost is going too smoothly. Within less than a minute they've cleared the front offices, and most of the main warehouse and trailer bays. He hears Cerbs bark first and then seconds later Clay unnecessarily announcing their arrival from the back access and storage rooms they just swept.

The two teams meet in the middle and then branch off to sweep the last few rooms and then his team begins opening the few containers and trailers stacked in the heart of the warehouse.

Watching Trent pull out his bold cutters and start cutting off locks Jason's gut churns with anticipation. And yet he fears he already knows what they will find.

That was too easy.

This is too empty.

Something doesn't feel right and he is no longer optimistic that they are going to find what they are looking for.

Sure enough within a matter of seconds he hears his team breach the last of the containers. Clay and Sonny wrench the last set of doors open causing the painfully abrasive sound of metal grating against metal and cement.

Clay calls "clear" and Jason hangs his head.

It was a pristine, textbook assault.

They couldn't have run it any better in a controlled training scenario.

The problem is that very much like a training scenario there is no real jackpot at the end here and in real life there is supposed to be.

Here they don't just reset and run it again. He isn't satisfied with just a clean run through or a perfect score on this one.

"Havoc I pass spruce. But no joy on evergreen."

There's a heavy sigh on the line and then Eric responds "Good copy Bravo 1. Passing spruce. Negative on evergreen"

Jason looks around at the absurdly vacant staging areas with only a few now open containers. He walks around until he finds the specific one he is looking for, the one whose supposed contents are what got them greenlit and led to them standing here today.

Like all the others it's completely empty and shows no evidence at all about what it might have held before. It's clearly been cleaned out, hosed down, and made ready for another run. And yet even without looking at the number identifier he knows it's was the one. Knows exactly what used to be in here.

They were here.

They were.

He's sure of it even though he can't actually prove it.

So where the hell did they move them too and how? He didn't see anything while they were entering to suggest they moved through or were held in any of the rooms he cleared.

And where the fuck are they now? Intel was confident there had been no transport out since arrival out. A few cars here and there with warehouse workers coming and going but nothing that could have moved 40 or so humans without arousing suspicion.

They were supposed to be here.

They weren't supposed to have been moved to the next facility yet.

How the hell did they somehow manage to get out of here undetected with so many eyes fixed on this building around the clock since they arrived?

Jason looks around at his men who are also exploring out around him and calls out "anybody see anything of interest on entry?"

The four answering head shakes are expected because his team is too smart and too in sync to have not already said so if they had.

So he turns to a different source for answers. One that should have had a better one in the first place.

"Havoc, what is ISR showing? Surely they didn't just vanish into thin air. How did they already get moved without us knowing about it? Or are we even sure they were here in the first place?"

The adrenaline still pumping makes his tone tight and biting and probably rude and he couldn't really care less. He doesn't even try to avoid the implication that someone fucked up because the ramifications are quickly setting in of what this means going forward.

They only came here first was because they believed they were still here. This failed mission is a massive blow to their chances of recovering the victims alive. Sure they can proceed to the other location but they may be too late. They may be long gone from there already. There also is a good chance that their entry here hasn't gone unnoticed and could spark a chain reaction of panic that further endangers lives.

He resists the urge to rush to the next location. His heart wants to pile the team in the vans and get there as fast as possible just in case, but his head says otherwise. Years of dealing with tough decisions and situations like this keep him in place and thinking through the next steps. Right now the best thing he can do is wait and find out what they are missing before they go blindly into another assault.

Eric seems to sense the brewing storm and where Jason's head is at because he hurriedly offers. "I'm looking into that right now. Lisa and I will get you whatever we can to work off of. In a meantime stay put. Local police have secured the perimeter.

Jason grunts a response that probably isn't even a word.

Sonny is more eloquent about it and mutters sarcastically "Great, I feel so safe."

Jason sighs "Alright, search it again. Everybody spread out and see what you can find that might shed some light on this cluster."

He watches his team split off following his directions and then heads after them in the same general direction as Clay and Trent, splitting off to go down a hallway into what looks like a grouping of offices.

Jason recognizes a room that he cleared earlier and splits off remembering a few boxes of interest that he wants to re-visit.

He carefully cracks open the first crate and finds an impressive shipment of firearms that is not wholly unexpected given what they know about the networks previous expertise. Hell he's willing to bet they are double dipping. Combining their old business ventures with their new. After all, many of the scumbags interested in buying vulnerable women to exploit probably wouldn't be opposed to accumulating enough guns and ammunition to equip a small country's army.

The next crate he pops is more unexpected, and has him freezing in place for several reasons.

Fuck thats a lot of C-4.

Logically he knows it's actually a very stable substance, especially packaged and secured like this. And deep down he knows that technically speaking he can't actually set it off with any sort of jolt or bump, that it would take a significant shockwave of charged energy to do that. But neither of those things stop him from slowly and very carefully easing the lid back down and backing away.

A few feet away, Jason slowly lets out the breath he was holding.

Explosives, and a lot of them at that. Yet another thing that not part of the brief.

Jesus.

He goes to reach for his radio to communicate this new finding to the rest of his team for their awareness as they continue to search through other rooms.

As he steps back to put one more step between himself and that payload and feels the previously hard cement floor give slightly under his left foot.

Jason freezes again, all movement, all communication forgotten as his mind races through the many possibilities of bad things he could have just stepped on and triggered. A pressure plate tops the list immediately both as the worst option and unfortunately also the most likely one.

His hand falls away from his radio, aborting his efforts to communicate with his team. Any call now will have them coming to his aid, something he isn't willing to risk until he knows the extent of the situation. No sense in putting more men down range and in harm's way.

They can get yell at him about it later, hopefully.

Honestly he isn't entirely surprised to find the raw explosives being moved. It's not that much of a stretch from the Intel they had about their international arms dealing. On the other hand if these assholes are actually sophisticated enough to have wired the place and booby trapped it without anybody picking up on that being a possibility then he is going to be really, REALLY pissed because thats a big fucking ball to drop.

Jason slowly crouches down, careful not to shift his weight in the slightest off of his one foot that found the plate. Whatever it is, its partially hidden beneath a rug so he cautiously lifts one corner of the fabric peeling it up inch by inch looking carefully for any wiring that could further complicate the situation. Instead he finds what looks like wooden planks and he stares blankly at them for a second before it truly registers what he is looking at. It's completely not what he was expecting. He was fairly certain that he was screwed and now his mind is playing catch up and having trouble conceptualizing why exactly this discrepancy is here if its not to blow him up.

When it finally clicks he is almost embarrassed with how long it took him to understand the significance of what appears to be a trapdoor. Leading to a cellar? No, he'd put good money on it being the entrance to a tunnel.

It's almost a waste of energy at this point to focus on the fact that this too was not on the brief or in any of the building diagrams. He has quite a list going to make sure he hits on when he gives someone an earful later.

However the more he thinks about it the more things start to slot rapidly into place. A tunnel would explain why they couldn't pin down any set pattern of movement externally between this location and the next in the chain. The smugglers must be moving their cargo down under ground rather than risking it above ground. Cargo arrives, gets unpacked, gets transferred underground to the next stop and re-distributed from there. It's brilliant, even if you tracked the container to the first stop (like they did) you would come up empty. Like they almost did. He has to admit he is kind of impressed.

It also unfortunately means they could have missed them by minutes or days. And there is no way to tell.

He should call it in, get the guys here and secure permission to pursue down the tunnel. But first he just wants to get a quick idea of what they are dealing with. He crouches down to grab at the corner and lifts carefully, just one inch at first watching carefully for any wires or signs of booby trapping. Not going to take any chances after his previous scare.

It's dark and deep.

He initially can't see more than a few inches down, nowhere near the bottom.

Jason hastily cracks on his headlamp and shines it around illuminating a ladder that extends downward in a square vertical tunnel downwards, maybe a few feet wide. At the bottom it opens up further into what looks like a large, expansive passageway heading east.

There's nothing homemade or hastily dug about it. It looks professional, ancient even like it actually predates this building if he had to guess although he has no idea why that would be.

He leans down a little closer trying to figure out whether or not there are any details, dust disturbances, footprints, anything to help tell how long ago it was used and how long they missed the transfer by.

The creak of a door quietly in the background has him returning his focus above ground a second too late. He straightens, blinks disorientedly in the bright room and belatedly tunes into the rush of footsteps that precipitates a hard, jarring impact to his side an instant later.

Off guard and off balance he goes down hard and embarrassingly easy. His head bounces off the cement he sees stars for a second, gasping helplessly for air as he lays on his back stunned and winded all at once. Before he can recover and get his bearings a weight settles heavy on top of him and a hand closes firmly over his mouth preventing him from calling out for help.

He manages to orient himself just in time to catch sight of the knife plunging down towards his chest, he counters and his arm manages to deflect a fatal blow steering down and away from his vital organs but there's too much force and it finishes it's arc only slightly deterred slicing down across his hip and then embedding high up in the side of his thigh.

Hot, nauseating agony spikes through his leg and he screams, muffled under the gag pressing relentlessly down not allowing him to make a sound even as the blade is yanked back out again.

Panting, Jason watches the knife raise again and manages to wait until his attacker is fully extended before using his good leg to swing up, kicking hard to dislodge his attacker. The weight slides partly off his chest, his assailant knocked off kilter to the side giving him space and freedom to grapple clumsily for his gun. Too soon the man is back in his personal space, pressing down and wrestling the gun out of his hands where it goes scattering away. Jason curses at himself, more angry at his failure to take advantage and gain the upper hand than he is about getting tackled or stabbed in the first place. He is not getting his ass kicked today. He is not going out on his back, overpowered and outmaneuvered. Hell no, not like this.

With a sudden burst of rage and wave of adrenaline, Jason turns the tables and goes on the offensive. He reaches up, grabbing his attackers arms and wrestling for control of the knife managing to get a hold of the man's thumb, ruthlessly wrenching it back until the man drops his own weapon with a yell. Jason swings at it, sending it far out of reach for both of them. The guy counters, swinging fists now. Hard blows from his advantage on top. Jason takes a hard shot to the chin, then another to the temple. He rides it out and counters with a few well placed strikes to his rib cage that have the man doubling over, gasping for air. He takes some grim satisfaction there and then uses his momentary advantage to flip them, reversing their positions and pulling his own knife all in the same motion. He doesn't waste time or energy, stabbing short and compact, one, two, three times to the chest and then following it up with two hard blows to the head that make the asshole finally go limp underneath him. He takes a few uneven breaths and then pushes up, staggering off the man and limping unsteadily a few feet away where he shakily sinks back down to the floor with his back against a crate.

He stares in disbelief at the bloody mess, the evidence of the chaos and violence, trying to fathom exactly how that just happened.

First off how the guy even got into the building. Maybe he was here all along. Did they not clear it properly? Did the perimeter not hold out if they did?

The pain in his leg reignites reminding him of a more pressing problem he probably should be focusing on judging by the puddle of blood growing under his leg. His head spins and throbs unhelpfully as he tries to coordinate his shaky hands into doing something useful. eventually but he gets the tourniquet positioned where it needs to be and cranks it right, wincing at the pain the pressure causes.

Honestly it's probably well deserved because now he's moved on to kicking himself. It was a rookie move to be so unaware of his surroundings and to let the guy get the drop on him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Trent better be able to stitch this up and get him mobile enough to finish the rest of this op. Their medic won't like it but the man usually has the good graces to plug his nose and do what's necessary and save his lectures up for later. He's got a real good one about TBI's that he recycles, and these days Clay likes to tag team that one adding in some new material and gruesome depressing facts about what the future probably holds for all of them. With any luck he can keep the pair of them from realizing his concussed state until well after the mission, or better yet never.

Jason fumbles with his radio to make contact and takes a few seconds too long to realize that part of the fuzzy head feeling is actually the static of disconnected channels playing through his comms. He hastily begins jamming loosened wires back into place, flinching sharply when wires reconnect and the low buzz explodes into something louder and more shrill in his earpiece and then finally squelches with a more recognizable sound that signals a connection.

Another familiar sound a few feet away has him looking up quickly, heart stuttering and stomach dropping down through the floor deep into the pit of the tunnels below.

He knows that sound anywhere.

The age old expression "so quiet you could hear a pin drop" well that applies to grenade pins too.

His victim's eyes are open now, flat on his back, head turned to Jason with blood streaming down from his mouth to his chin. He could easily be a dead body except his face is alive with hatred and malice and he focuses rolling eyes on Jason and smiles in satisfaction with his final act.

Jason's eyes don't need to go to his hands to know what he will see yet they go anyways.

He watches the man's hand relax, the grenade release and roll onto the ground between them, and time seems to go into slow motion.

4 seconds.

That's how much time Jason has before he dies here.

4 seconds while the spring loaded striker falls down against the percussion cap, impacting and creating a small spark that ignites a slow burning fuze.

4 seconds. Give or take. While the fuze burns through and then reaches the detonator, setting off an explosion inside the grenade that will send deadly percussive force and crippling heat combined with shards of metal in all directions.

Even if he somehow survives that which he won't, his belated calculations have him leaning against a box of several hundred pounds of C-4 that most definitely will be triggered by that shockwave and will happily finish the job of dispersing him into a fine pink mist.

4 seconds.

It only takes .5 of one for his brain to calculate all that. Another .5 to be pissed at himself for not making sure the guy was 6 feet under or at least didn't have any weapons on him. And then another precious second to worry about whether the blast will reach any of his team outside of this room.

Then in a last ditch effort he springs to his feet, fueled by sheer desperation and hurls himself back towards the hatch he abandoned earlier, his only possible chance of not going out in a fiery inferno. He takes two painful steps and dives towards the opening reaching, not knowing if he will get there in time, sliding on his stomach until his fingers grab the lip then the ladder, pulling himself down desperately head first into the cold, dark hole at an angle it was never meant to be entered.

And then time is up. A great wave of heat and pressure catches the rest of his body, still partially exposed, ramming into his stomach, legs and feet up like a tidal wave and sending them way to fast downwards after him. The force drives him downwards from above, too fast and too powerful for him to maintain any grip or control and he goes flying down and back in an uncontrolled heap until his back and head crash into the far wall of the vertical tunnel sending him tumbling down into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Clay pulls his head out of his ass and stops obsessing about things that really shouldn't matter, he figures out pretty quickly that it wasn't just the team's uncertain interpersonal dynamics that aren't what they should be. The mission itself is bothering him just as much as anything else which is a whole lot more concerning in the grand scheme of things.

The problem is that he just can't quite figure out why. What exactly about it that is making him hesitant on this one.

He's never been one to believe in "gut feelings" or those people who swore they had a bad premonition before something went wrong. In fact he's mocked Sonny on more than one occasion for voicing that kind of opinion, and rolled his eyes more subtly the few times they've spun up with Summer who likes to pontificate thoughtfully about whether or not a mission has good vibes or not.

If you want to go there then this mission has a horrible vibe. Horrible right from the start. Unfortunately, so do a lot of their ops because you generally don't call out a tier one team unless things are pretty bad or pretty fucked up.

But it's not just the subject matter on this one. He's efficiently tucked that one neatly into a box along with most of the more horrific things they have to deal with. No, it's something more, something about the plan, or maybe about the intel. Maybe he isn't quite as over the whole Ray being here thing as he is telling himself. Whatever it is …._Something_ just isn't sitting right.

Clay keeps hoping that once they get the green light and get ready to go it will resolve itself. That it's just a side effect of being antsy to get going.

It isn't.

Because as they run through the plan for the last time before they finally get to go out and complete the mission they've been waiting for the better part of 3 days to do there is still that nagging itch that he can't pinpoint or scratch. That infuriating feeling like he's forgotten something and it's just on the tip of his tongue, or that fuzzy image on the outside scope of his peripheral vision lurking just there where he can't bring it back into focus.

He stands staring at the diagrams. Hoping to jog his memory or find something that stands out. Something they don't know or maybe something he's missed. Something he should have done differently. This is his job now to make sure the I's are dotted and the T's are crossed and right now something feels undotted or uncrossed so if they go out like this and there ends up being a problem then that's on him.

Jason picks up on that and gives him a chance to fess up and to raise whatever has got him all twisted up.

Clay doesn't take it. He wants to. Childishly wants to ask Jason to reconsider. But reconsider what? The op? The plan? He doesn't know how to explain it and without a substantiated concern there is no basis to rock the boat unless you count the swirling in his gut that could have been caused by bad food for all he knows.

Still his team leader doesn't let it go and continues watching him with a quiet burning intensity that makes Clay wonder if the man can see right through his new number two down to all the doubts and insecurities brewing at the core. If he can see that he picked a fraud, that Clay is struggling and playing something he isn't.

Jason raises an eyebrow at him, in one last question. One last challenge, daring him to speak up and Clay hesitates, torn and unsure with Ray's lecture ringing in his ears. His job is to support number one. Not raise questions or sow doubts in a plan that is sound and especially not when he can't actually explain why exactly he feels like they should change it up.

So he holds his tongue and then takes the reprieve of the vans arrival to break the tense atmosphere.

It isn't until they are lined up to breach that he finally puts his finger on it.

All those vague, wisps of doubt floating in his head suddenly solidify into something more defined. It's clear as day now and equally infuriating that it took him this long to piece it together.

It doesn't make sense that they are using two locations so close together. Sure, human traffickers often have stops along the way but not like this. Why increase their chance of being seen or intercepted and add another layer of transportation, security and logistics to coordinate. Why not just drive the container directly to the next site for transport skipping this one altogether. It doesn't make sense and now he can see the piece they are missing, right there, obvious as anything in the middle of the puzzle and instead of being satisfied with finally locating it he is even more alarmed.

The foreboding feeling increases as he and Brock sit waiting for Jason to make the call. He shifts in places making Brock raise an eyebrow and Cerb to stare at him reproachfully if that's even possible.

The silence stretches because there doesn't seem to be anyone anywhere around here. No one. The building appears completely abandoned for the evening and instead of putting him at ease that serves to solidify his suspicion that something isn't right.

Finally he can't take it anymore. He takes to the radio offering a casual inquiry that is anything but "You think they all went home for the night or what?".

He throws it out like a lifeline. Hoping that someone else is feeling similar. Will jump on board or recognize that something isn't right without him having to make waves. That maybe Jason will pick up on the bad vibes, or bad juju, or just straight inconsistencies in this situation and decide to hold off on entering for a few more minutes.

Before he can get a response one way or another two men appear on their radar at the rear. He tracks them heading towards the front, reporting in with a deepening pit in his stomach. He knows what this means. Knows that as soon as they are out of sight the team will make entry. There will be no reconsidering or waiting now because it's not worth the chance of delaying and encountering another patrol.

Sure enough the order comes swiftly and he and Brock head to the door to make entry.

When the breach command comes Clay goes through the door and leaves his doubts behind on the threshold.

He turns his brain off, running on autopilot and trusting in his training to face whatever awaits.

Muscle memory kicks in and well ingrained reflexes take over.

He watches Cerb push ahead down the hall.

Lines up behind Brock and they follow quickly behind.

Normally a two person stack to breach and assault would be unheard of but they have an extra four legged advantage that tips the scale and make it possible.

He periodically clears behind, as they follow the corridor. Processing what he sees and evaluating as they go.

First door. Corner fed entrance.

They proceed carefully to the last spot of cover next to the open doorway.

Cerb is back at Brock's side waiting for a command.

Clay glances down. No sit response. Clear to go.

He taps Brock's shoulder and in one smooth motion Brock enters first immediately turning to sweep the blind side. Clay follows focusing ahead sweeping the middle and opposite walls through his sector.

_Look deep, sweep through, stay in your sector._

Still to this day it's Adam's voice in his head saying what he must have said to them a hundred times during Green team. Maybe a thousand. Its deeply ingrained now. A lasting legacy burned into his brain.

Job done, he drops back and waits for Brock to finish and form on him to exit back into the hallway.

They creep down the hallway and again he hears Adam's voice barking at them as if he is still perched above them

_Efficiency of movement. Economy of Motion. _

Clay reaches another corner fed room and short steps to meet the edge of cover, shifting his weight carefully in preparation and then takes a larger step out into a balanced assault position overlooking his sector.

_Footwork. Footwork. Footwork. Your aim won't save you if you fall on your ass taking the corner. _

Clear.

They continue down the hallway working room to room until on the fourth room, center fed this time and full of office equipment. Brock sweeps right while Clay goes left, scanning and pivoting when an irregular movement catches his eye from behind a desk near the wall.

A tango rises, gun in hand

_Address the threat. Handle it. Move on. _

Spenser unloads 1-2-3-4 shots center mass before his opposition knows what hit him.

There. Handled.

It was barely even a challenge.

Actually this whole entry has been too easy which is making him more uncomfortable with the situation if anything.

They continue methodically clearing, far too well trained to let up or give in to the dangerous assumption that there will be no one else lurking.

The expected larger show of force never materializes though and when they meet up with the rest of the guys in the main warehouse it's readily apparent that they also had a suspiciously easy time of it.

Clay doesn't need to cut the locks off the containers to know they will be empty. Nothing about this has been right.

Sure enough when they are all laid bare, it confirms the doubt that's been growing slowly and steadily inside him for the last few hours.

Something wasn't right with their Intel package.

He and Jason are finally on the same page with that and he doesn't even need to say it aloud because Bravo 1 is already on the coms with Havoc base making it clear that someone fucked up royally.

Clay winces, listening to the blistering words pour through the open channel. He can't say he is overly surprised, and normally Jason wouldn't lay into their support team like this but there is a point to be made here to all the politicians, foreign analysts and other blowhards they've been saddled with all the way along and presumably are following their progress along at the command center. Things have been a little bumpier than usual and tolerance levels a little bit lower than normal.

Unfortunately this particular bump could be costly. This hiccup has slowed them down substantially by putting them here in the wrong place at the wrong time and that could have deadly consequences. Judging by the thinly veiled anger and cool chill to Jason's tone he is well aware of that fact as well.

Seeking something useful to do Clay drifts away exploring outwards in the hopes that maybe there is at least some evidence that might point them in the right direction. He notices most of the team doing the same, conveniently leaving a wide berth around their leader who sounds like he might blow at any minute. Whatever the motivation they are already well on their way to doing a second pass through of the building when he hears Jason give the official order to spread out and search.

Clay ducks into a smaller storage room, a few doors down from the main loading area. A quick glance through tells him this isn't where he is going to find any sort of paperwork that might be of use for tracking importers, exporters or further fleshing out routing. He goes to exit but sees Jason storming down the hallway towards the only remaining room down that way and quickly decides that maybe this one might need a more thorough comb over after all.

Spenser cracks open a few boxes, verifies an invoice or two and then figures he's probably played chicken long enough and he should actually get on with doing his job. Testy team leader or not.

He heads out into the hallway and follows the corridor down in the direction a fuming Jason headed to check in and see what if they can formulate a new plan to try to salvage this mess.

Part of the way down Clay pauses and then frowns as his radio squawks a connection point but then goes silent. He waits for further communication but nothing comes. Maybe some sort of interference or a radio malfunction? When Jason doesn't follow up on it it he decides he better take it into his own hands and toggles the communicator and says "Radio Chec…:

He doesn't get the second word fully out when a wave of heat blasts him off his feet and sends him crashing into the nearest wall and then down to the floor in a chaotic and unexpected flight.

When the world somewhat rights itself again he is on his stomach. Face pressed to a dirty floor watching his uneven breaths blow puffs of dust up into the air. .

He blinks a few times trying to clear his cloudy vision, when that doesn't work he shakes his head gently but stops when something wet drips down into his eye further obscuring his line of sight. Clay raises a hand to swipe at it and then stares at the steak of blood on his trembling fingers.

When his eyes manage to refocus he takes in the partially destroyed hallway. Tracking the damage back further down the hallway to what looks like the epicenter of the devastation.

Fuck.

Jason was down there.

Adrenaline clears some of the fog and he tries to get up. Forces himself to all fours but gets no further, braced on his hands and knees as the walls seem to move around him and the ringing in his ears intensifies rather than abates.

Still the promise of what lies beyond and the unrelenting need to get to his leader has him trying to push off and get all the way up.

He doesn't get far, ends up partially more upright but slumped back into a semi sitting position resting heavily on his knees and ankles while he wavers and sways unsteadily.

Clay registers hands on him first and then in a lagging, somewhat warped delay panicked voices come through in short staccato bursts that cut in and out. People are shouting in his ear, Trent's face blinks into a small window of clarity in front of him but he lets his gaze unfocus again, stares blankly right through him and down the hallways at the carnage.

He tries to get up. To go see what must be somewhere there and this time a hand on his shoulder foils his efforts, pushing against him and causing him to fold almost embarrassingly easily. Concerned faces swirl around him with lips moving but their voices are lost to the ringing thats back and stronger than ever. He gets the gist though and tries to tell them he's fine. He's just not sure if anything actually came out because no one seems to hear him. .

Or if they do they ignore choose to ignore it. Trent taking his wrist and holding fingers to his pulse point. Clay registers a sharp pain as if from a distance. He can tell it probably hurts where the man is pressing. Broken maybe. Sprained at least. But can't be bothered to care right now.

That's the least of his concern right now. He needs to get up. They need to get to Jason.

Faces press back into his line of sight and demand things off him but he still can't make out what they are saying and doesn't really try to.

Jason

He needs to get to Jason.

He pushes them away. Making another attempt to get it his feet, this time he feels Brock assist him and his teammate steadies him until he gets his knees locked. Upright now, hand on the wall to stay that way, he tries to push past them but Trent isn't having it. He holds Clay in place and then attacks him out of nowhere with a bright light that causes another explosion. Pain lances back through his eyes, past the sockets, running along every nerve and firing back through his skull and drilling down into his very core.

Clay bats the offending flashlight away, slamming his eyes shut and swallowing hard against the nausea. They don't have time for this.

Cerberus bumps up against his side looking anxious and he wonders if maybe the dog gets it at least.

Beyond that Sonny is peering down the hall with a flashlight, evidently relaying information back to base, Clay slowly starts to register some words amidst the infuriating high pitch tone that cuts in and out intermixed with deathly silent patches almost as if someone keeps pressing and unpressing the mute button on his life.

"...Explosion... unidentified source. Bravo 2 …... ambulatory….. Assessing now."

After a few seconds Clay clues in to the fact that he is only hearing one side of the conversation and that the usual buzzed response of Havoc is missing in his ear. He fishes around and locates his ear piece dangling and jams it back in with clumsy fingers.

It doesn't make much of a difference, more static and more noise cutting in and out that he has a hard time following so his attention drifts back to a more reliable sensory input and he watches Sonny climbing over some of the rubble, sweeping down the hallway with his flashlight.

Clay knows what he is going to find.

That certainty jars him enough that he finally finds his voice. Clearing his throat around the smoke and the dust and the emotion clogging it, and hoarsly forcing out his first word.

"Jason"

When they still don't seem to get it he spells it out more urgently, fighting to find moisture to continue on with.

" Went ...down there"

Trent and Brock's eyes widen, their hold loosens.

Free now, Clay staggers after Sonny, legs somewhat steadier until he stumbles over a chunk of cement that used to be a wall. He rights himself quickly, pushing onwards.

He has to know.

Even though deep down he already does.

He studied the plans well enough to know that that room is a dead end, no exits, no windows.

Or at least that's how it used to be. Now he can see the explosion has ripped through and opened up large gaping holes and collapsing sections of what used to be the rear structural wall separating the loading bay from a storage room.

So no, that explosion wasn't survivable. There is no way to even pretend otherwise.

And if there was its quickly shatters when he gets close enough to smell it.

Long before he can see past the chunks of walls still standing he knows what he will find in the room. The distinctive odor of burnt flesh easily overpowers the chemical residue and the smoke still lingering in the hallway as he approaches crushing any and all hope.

He finds Sonny in the middle of the floor, kneeling next to what's left of their leader.

It isn't much and if Clay didn't know, hadn't known from the second he realized what happened, he would have sworn it couldn't be Jason.

Next to the body Bravo 3 looks smaller and more broken than Clay ever thought possible. The man is frozen, staring helplessly at the mess before him, and doesn't respond to his entry. The Texan's face a wildly vivid mix of all the sorrow and rage and everything in between and all the same emotions slam into Clay full force again threatening to send him backwards just like the explosion. His stomach rolls and the acrid burn of bile threatening to escape coats his mouth as he braces himself up against one wall waiting for the world to find its proper axis again.

When it rights itself he is back in that dark, wet, alley in India. The smell of garbage, and tumeric, and charred skin all mingling together. Adam's shrivelled corpse, steaming and smoking and missing parts of limbs.

With effort he pulls his head out of memories but reality is no better. In fact the carnage is actually worse this time. Whatever went off here was no homemade S-vest and it was in a confined space. What he's looking at doesn't resemble Jason at all, barely resembles much of a human body. Could be practically anyone except that Sonny has a singed, but distinctive, set of dog tags clutched in his shaking fist so its not.

He almost wants to laugh. Its an absurd reaction to an absurd situation that he never in a million years imagined he would be reliving.

Three years with Bravo team and two of his leaders, two of his mentors ended up incinerated on his watch.

He wants to pinch himself and wake up because honestly they can't be this unlucky. They can't be doing this again.

He slowly starts to register words in the the insistent buzzing in his ear starts to take

"…_.sitrep…. went quiet.."_

"_. …. Respond…...Status"_

"_All stations this is havoc base what the hell is going on?"_

He looks around and in another soul crushing moment of dejavu realizes that once again that task is on him. And this time Ray isn't here to step up for him this time so he is actually going to have to be the one to break the news.

"Bravo 2 to base, I pass fallen eagle" He hangs his head and forces out the words through a tightening throat "We lost Bravo 1"

His ear reignites with questions and words and this time he simply chooses not to hear them.

When a silence falls again he realizes that an answer probably was expected and that he probably has to have the answers going forward. Not just for Havoc but for the team.

He takes his best guess at what he figures they were asking about.

Probably.

He's finding it hard to care right now, desperately embrace any sort of numbness or apathetic approach that will make this more bearable.

"It was some kind of explosion. Don't know if it the room was rigged or what but Jason took the brunt of it. Didn't have a chance."

The words come of his mouth in a strangely detached manner. It's a voice he doesn't recognize, one that could be talking about some random stranger rather than a close friend and teammate.

That doesn't last long because as soon as he hears a response involving questions about a _"Cas Evac_" things get real again. In a flash of well remembered pain he is back on the plane from Mumbai sitting with Adam's flag covered casket, kneeling and lifting with the team as one, sitting through the service and watching his wife and kids mourn.

Fresher and more acutely painful thoughts start to crop up as well because this casket which will be lighter than that one was, there's less of him left. And where there was a weeping widow to console the kids, now there will just be two kids burying their second parent in as many years.

How is he supposed to look Emma or Mikey in the eyes and explain how he let this happen. How their only remaining parent won't be coming back because of him.

_"Bravo 2 respond" _

Blackburn's voice is sharp and insistent he realizes he probably spaced out again.

_Shake it off. _

Adam's voice chides him, sharp and clear. Demanding better.

Not so hard right? Not so easy either. It felt impossible then. Now it feels absolutely incomprehensible. Except...

_Get your priorities straight._

This time it's Jason's voice calling him out. Urging him to get his shit together and to focus on what matters and what can still be changed.

So he follows orders. Both sets of them. Locks the emotions away, slams down the barricade and tells himself there will be a time and place for that later.

He can at least do this. He can do this for Jason. Prioritize completing the mission and getting Jason's team home safe. If nothing else he can do that for him.

"Bravo 2 to Havoc, Negative on the Cas Evac. We are charlie mike to the second location"

"_A-firm, Bravo 2. Charlie Mike. Let us know what you need"_

Clay clears his throat and straightens up. Looking around him at the remaining members of their team all wearing very familiar dazed expressions of disbelief, anger, shock, and misery.

For a second no one says anything and then finally Sonny spits out his first words.

"We ain''t leaving him here. Not like this."

He glares up at Spenser from the ground with red rimmed eyes and a look that promises swift pain to anyone who comes near him to try to say otherwise.

Clay sighs internally. Knowing on several levels exactly what the man is feeling, and not exactly enthused with the prospect either. But they need to get moving. They need to complete this mission.

"Local military will maintain the perimeter. No one will touch our guy but us. RIght now though we have a job to do. If those women did already get moved then they are in even more danger now. Even if none of these buddies got a call off, even if the explosion didn't get noticed, someone is eventually going to figure it out when one of their friends doesn't check in. We have one window to get this done and it's now."

That's enough for Brock and Trent, spurring hesitant action that shows they heard it and are preparing to leave. Sonny on the other hand doesn't respond and doesn't move.

Clay tries again, still hoping logic will get through.

Son, Jason would have made the same choice, cuz he knows those kids need us more than he does. We can't help him right now but we can help them."

Sonny looks away pointedly, his first acknowledgement of Clay's words but he still refuses to make eye contact and doesn't move or speak apart from silently shaking shoulders.

After a minute it becomes clear this isn't going anywhere so Spenser tries one last tactic. He creeps carefully closer and then lowers his voice for his friends ears only.

"I seem to remember a wiser, more experienced operator once telling me that _Now ain't the time to mourn. It's the time for payback." _

He hopes Sonny will recognize his own words, understand the sentiment, and maybe just maybe find a little dark humour or irony in the role reversal from when he was spouting the same lines trying to coax Clay away from Adam's side not all that long ago.

He knows he's stuck the right chord because Sonny finally gets up, still looking determinedly away while he swipes his sleeve subtly over his face on his way up.

Only then does he finally turn to give Clay a grim nod. Sonny clears his throat and says gruffly "You forgot better looking."

Clay gives a dry laugh that maybe turns partly into a sob, and reaches out to clasp him on the shoulder, squeezing once before letting his arm drop.

They exit as a team, one short, pale and silent in what already feels like a funeral procession. In short order they reach the vans and pile in, consciously trying not to focus on the extra empty seat that wasn't there on the way in. Trent eases the van away and Clay stares takes one last long look back at the building. From the outside there are no visible signs of damage. He can see a few plain clothes officers moving in to stand guard but apart from that it looks the same as when they arrived, almost as if they were never there. As if this never happened.

God he wishes that was the case.

_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_

_Jason opens his eyes to disorienting darkness and a chill seeping in from whatever cold surface he is lying on. Within seconds excruciating pain overwhelms him and he tries desperately to breathe through the spike of fear that accompanies it. He doesn't remember how he got here, or where here is exactly, but there are vague memories of panic and desperation that tells him it probably wasn't good and obviously it didn't go well. His breathing rate increases, sparking new aches in his ribs and his back and hell pretty much everywhere._

_He reaches for his radio and his hand comes up empty where it should be. Fuck. _

_Jason reaches around tentatively by his side, trying not to move but feeling increasingly desperate to find it. His hand ghosts over a damp patch on his leg and he remembers the blinding pain of being stabbed. His fingers wrap find the fabric still wrapped around and he knows it needs to be tighter so he twists and pulls, as best he can from this position. He isn't sure how effective it is but the pain ratchets up substantially so he figures that probably means he got it at least a little tighter. _

_That small effort has his head pounding, thoughts swirling. He tells himself his team will come for him, he just needs to hold on. Just need to ride it out a little longer. He's not sure exactly when his eyes closed because the darkness is all the same but slowly the discomfort lessons and he drifts deeper and deeper down until he knows no more. _

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I wasn't planning on beating up on Clay this time - oops. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. Chapter 5

_Sooorrryyyy. This one took a while. I struggled to get what I wanted in the team dynamics and dialogue for this chapter so I hope it worked in the end. _

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Sonny Quinn is well aware he isn't exactly a beacon of patience and self control at the best of times.

This is not the best of times.

It's not even close.

He long ago stopped measuring mission success based on the operational parameters because let's face it sometimes they are just fucked up.

Sometimes the team comes home empty handed

And sometimes it feels like they made things worse

Every once in a while their actions feel just as bad as the people they are hunting even though some suit has labeled it for the greater good on some complicated chessboard he doesn't care to understand.

He lets cooler heads than him engage in all that crap.

Arguing with the asshats in suits with convoluted agendas and trying to get straight answers from spooks who don't remember what black and white look like…. yeah thats a number 1 or 2 job.

For him he keeps it simple. Keeps his eye on the prize and keeps his mind clear and focused squarely where it should be which is making sure his own come home.

Sonny Quinn protects his team, and his leader, above all else.

One simple thing.

It's not complicated or too much to ask for, at least he thinks.

And yet today they failed.

He failed.

Sonny watches the buildings fleet by the van window and feels it sink in a little bit more with each one that passes. Each building fading into the distance means they are a little bit further away from how things used to be and a little closer to this new reality he isn't ready to accept yet.

All because he failed.

And now they are one short.

Today they left his friend, mentor and leader, behind like nothing more than a piece of smoked meat. Like something that meant nothing to anyone at all.

He knows the kid was right. That they had to leave.

He's lost people in the field before. Hell last time it was him telling Clay they had to move on.

But God Damn It this was Bravo 1.

That _means_ _something_ in Sonny's world.

It means Jason deserved more. Deserved better.

Bravo 1 bore the weight of the world to keep this team going. There was no cost too high in Jason's world even when the tolls add up against his family and health.

Jason Hayes taught him the true meaning of service and sacrifice and straightened him out real quick when he was a young hot-headed operator thought he had it all figured out.

He's the one who time and time again pulled Sonny's ass out of the fire when he maybe did something on the stupider side. Come hell or high water rising in a torpedo tube Jason Hayes would always come through for you.

He was the first one to call Sonny to the carpet and tell him to get his shit together but also always ready to go to bat for him when Sonny just couldn't.

Jason pulled Sonny into his family, kicking and screaming and let him mooch off countless thanksgiving dinners, birthday parties and graduations and even made casual Saturday afternoon street hockey games a part of his weekly repertoire. Now he will never get a chance to tell the man how much he valued that and how tightly he hung on to those wholesome moments in the darker times.

And after all that they left him.

That doesn't sit right on so many levels.

So yeah, they can go get payback right now. Try to take solace in a little vengeance and bloodshed. He just knows he won't get much solace out of it knowing a brother is lying there abandoned and alone.

When the van arrives, Sonny pulls himself out on autopilot and follows his remaining brothers to the pre-arranged set point.

He tries to tell himself it can't hurt to go swak some asshates since they are already here. A quick and dirty fight, and then back to Jason.

He supposes he can get behind that if he really has to.

The team already studied this building in anticipation of a possible assault so they have a fall back plan ready and should be able to get in, get out and get back asap.

Except they don't.

It quickly becomes apparent the kid has other ideas.

Spenser insists on pulling them back further and setting up a surveillance post on a nearby roof.

When he mentions aborting the original plan Sonny runs out of patience and can't resist grumbling a little.

Clay ignores him.

So he tells himself to let it be. To bide his time and his tongue.

That manages to last all of another 2 minutes before he gives up on it because he reeaallly needs to get moving.

Sonny is desperately craving the simple clarity and tunnel vision that assaulting requires. His 3 foot world doesn't include horribly disfigured bodies, orphaned children and somber funerals to come, which sounds pretty damn appealing right about now.

Sitting here, overlooking the target building, perched on the precipice of indecision and competing interests, yeah that's not going to work for him.

It's way too much time to think.

And even worse - to feel.

Finally he can't take it anymore.

"Seriously. We already have a plan. Let's stop wasting time and get on with it"

Clay still doesn't turn to face him, responding gruffly while staring out into the street in front of them.

"And how well did that plan go for us."

Oh no you don't.

Clay's been known to make flippant comments like that and question things most of them just let go. Hell Spenser's pushed Jason's buttons more than a few times and Sonny's always let the two go toe to toe but that right there sounded a whole lot like questioning someone who isn't around to defend himself anymore and that's just a step too far in his book.

Brock subtly steps in his way stopping his momentum and it's only then that Sonny realizes he's taken a step forward with his fists clenched.

He consciously relaxes them and steps back.

Looks up to see Clay now watching him with an unreadable expression

Trent on the other hand has no problem shooting his teammate a clearly disapproving look.

Sonny glares back, no time for Sawyer's holier than thow shit right now.

He wasn't going to punch Clay who currently outranks him, by the way.

Probably.

…..

Okay maybe.

It's just that resetting is a waste of time if you ask him. Which apparently no one cares to do.

Sure enough both Trent and Clay have gone back to ignoring him and focusing their attention on discussing possible options.

Does no one realize that this delay is only giving them more time to prepare and set up too?

Brock joins in the conversation and they continue talking in circles pretty much confirming that this is no longer going to be a quick in and out.

His team seems bound and determined to drag it on all day at this rate.

Are they all forgetting about their leader. The one lying helpless and alone back there. Does that ring a bell for anyone. Does anyone give a shit about that except him.

Newly blooming pain and anger eats away at any filter.

"Hurry the fuck up. Jason would have been able to figure this out on the fly and we would have been halfway home by now"

Now Clay looks like Sonny did actually punch him and Sonny takes a small amount of smug satisfaction in finally getting a reaction.

Isn't that what people always tell him to use his words instead of his fists.

Maybe there is something to it.

It was _almost _as satisfying.

He ruthlessly ignores the slight pinch of guilt because yeah, maybe throwing Jason in there might have been a shot below the belt.

But the rest of it he is completely unapologetic for. Facts are facts, and if Clay wants to run with the big dogs than this is how it is. He needs to step up to the table and Sonny isn't going to sugar coat that on a mission even for a friend. Especially not when he is against their current course of action to begin with.

Clay gamely recovers. He slips on a neutral mask and then his voice comes out cold and calculated and very un-clay like.

"The Intel was faulty. Whatever explosives got Jason were bigger than just a simple S-Vest. And just because we got all the ones in that building doesn't mean they didn't get a call out or have some pre-established protocol that's been missed now. Or that they didn't somehow get wind of the explosion or saw our guys post security and figured out something was up"

He takes a deep breath, setting his shoulders and glancing around at the team before he continues on firmly. "I want to make sure we have all the pieces this time. To make sure that those people in there relying on us don't end up blown to smithereens because we rushed in. And I want to make sure that we are all still around to go back for Jason…."

Now Clay has eyes only for Sonny, his face hardens and his voice loses a few more degrees of warmth as he finishes, staring Bravo 3 squarely in the face... "So sorry for taking a few extra seconds to get it right."

He turns back to watching the target building and the alley below, a very clear signal that the conversation is over for him.

Sonny still isn't satisfied though. He still wants to fight. Isn't willing to let it go or let it be or wait it out or whatever zen crap he's being asked to do. All the rage, the unfairness, and the pain, is churning just below the surface. Bubbling up to the surface and trying to escape. He won't be held responsible if his team ends up as collateral damage because no one will let him go do his damn job.

"Then let's just go back. Let's go back and get Jason if y'all are too afraid to move forward."

He catches Trent nodding in support as he finished his outburst which is more than a little surpising. Their medic's calm and measured approach to things rarely aligns with his less tempered, less stoic, gut reactions. Generally the two of them balance things out by being able to consistently take opposite opinions on pretty much any and all facets of life.

Clay on the other hand pretends not to hear it, or notice the budding union of Bravo 3 and 4.

Even more surprisingly the response when it comes is from Brock who hisses quietly at them "We didn't come all this way for nothing. Might as well get the job done."

Now Trent rounds on him, sniping back quickly "Yeah, but at the cost of what? We have no better Intel. Could be walking unprepared into another bomb."

Sonny flares at that one, again with the questioning of Jason.

"Jason wasn't _unprepared_. We don't know what happened" He says bitingly, daring anyone to go anywhere near that line of criticism again. His adrenaline kicks up clearing his mind, as he finally gets an approximate of the fight he wanted in an unexpected conflict zone.

But Trent doesn't back down "exactly…. _We don't know_!'

Sonny brushes past that, pressing back with urgency, determined for someone, anyone to understand "We can figure that out later. Let's get in there now and do what we do."

"What do you think we are trying to do? We are all working to figure out a way to get in there and do that," Brock snarks back.

Now Clay turns around sharply. "Enough!"

He runs a tired hand over his face and lowers his voice, speaking softly and with gravity "Do your damn jobs and help me figure this out or if that's too much to ask then shut the hell up and wait quietly while I do. Squabbling at each other isn't going to help anyone. We are better than this. He would have expected better than this."

An uncomfortable silence follows.

Sonny for one is bristling at the admonishment. Not at all in the habit of allowing Spencer to put him in his place. Every instinct wants to chirp back, push back, continue on with this battle.

The problem it stings just a little bit extra, feels just a little too pointed, which in his experience usually means there is some element of truth to it that he doesn't want to hear.

Still seething he looks for support to Trent and Brock and can see a similar storm of emotions playing out across their faces.

He has to admit it's also a little out of left field. Spenser's been running around trying to emulate Ray Perry mannerisms for days, weeks, even. Calm, composed, shoulder ot cry on, everything to everyone. But that one was all Jason. Right out of the Hayes playbook down to the set jaw and the straight shoulders and the words that cut right through you and make you feel about 2 inches tall.

Kid might be all high on his britches but he does have a point.

Jason would have expected better from them. Would have demanded it too, just like Clay is well within his right to do now.

No one seems to be able to come up with an effective argument so they laps into a terse holding pattern. The team continues to watch, and wait, and do nothing, and Sonny again almost reaches the end of his ability to sit quietly when finally a tango exits the building.

Sonny gives him a quick once over, dismisses it and goes back to trying to figure out a way to convince the team to leave without starting another war.

He's just about got what he figures is the least inflammatory statement he can manage ready to roll when Clay breaks the silence.

"Bravo 2 to Havoc, can we get some assistance with something."

It shocks him a little to remember that there is a world still outside of this mission, because it kind of feels like it ended a few hours ago. Like all that is left is the team slowly self destructing here on this rooftop.

_"Go ahead Bravo 2. What do you need?"_

"Can you pull up the pictures of the dead tangos we sent you from the previous building. Look for one with a pretty noticeable scar on his face. left side..."

_"Bravo 2, what are you thinking?" _This time it's Ray's voice on the coms. Quiet, calm and intrigued, his presence even in that form, restores a tentative sense of normalcy to the team. Like he is just around the corner and heading their way to meet and bounce ideas off of. Like Jason is just around the corner too. Like they aren't untethered or directionless.

If Clay is feeling the same he doesn't show it, responding back slowly and pensively

"I swear I saw this buddy back at the other building. He went in just before we breached "

"_Negative Bravo 2. No facial scars in photos you sent." _ Eric's voice takes back over and his response has Clay frowning.

"Roger that, and ISR confirmed there were no squirters during the assault or since?"

_"A-firm. Perimeter was secure."_ Ray provides the answer meaning Sonny is actually willing to trust it.

Trent seems to have caught on to what Clay is stewing about, and thinks it through out loud

"So if he went into the building, and he didn't come out, how the hell is he here, and not dead."

Despite himself Sonny's interest is peaked, now understanding why Clay is obsessing over this one dude.

But he still feels like they are over complicating things and that maybe there's a very simple solution being overlooked here.

"Are you sure it's the same guy, it's pretty dark?"

It's not too dark to see the glare that gets shot his way.

And if it was, the clipped, glacially cool response from Clay would have made it pretty damn clear.

"I'm sure."

Sonny considers trying to clarify. He was actually trying to be helpful there. Although it's not hard to see why it maybe was taken the wrong way in this current climate.

Before he can decide whether or not he wants to broach it again, Clay moves away, heading to the south east corner of the roof and staring out contemplating the area due south of them towards the harbour in the not too far distance.

Now what?

He knows that look. It's the same one that Clay gets when he's got an idea. When his brain is racing a mile a minute down some rabbit hole and it could be a while before it appears with whatever creative theory is percolating inside.

Thankfully his already stretched too thin patience doesn't get tested too much further.

"Havoc, can you go back in historical records and find out where the postal building used to be?"

What the fuck?

A quick glance around shows he isn't the only one wondering what the hell he is missing here. He takes some satisfaction in seeing equally confused looks on Trent and Brock's faces.

Even Balckburn's normally unflappable voice seems somewhat perplexed when he responds with the coordinates for the unexpected request after a minute.

Clay ignores all that. Eyes alight with interest, plowing onwards.

"Okay, now draw a line from that point directly to the harbour. Does our pos happen to fall on that line?"

Sonny suspects Clay already figured out the answer to that question before he even asks it because he barely even reacts when Blackburn confirms. He quickly redirects.

"How about the previous location?"

Another affirmative.

Clay nods with satisfaction. Thinking it through but not sharing with the class fast enough for Sonny's liking.

"So…." he prompts tersely.

Clay takes another infuriating second and then finally decided to catch his team up.

"I think they've tapped into the underground postal tunnels"

Receiving 3 blank looks he continues on explaining" In some of these old european port towns they built underground tunnels from the docks up to the post office to move the goods on a dolly system. A primitive underground train system if you will"

"Thank you, Mr. History channel"

It slips out of his mouth without thinking, an automatic response to new heights of nerdiness previously unseen from the boy genius.

Except there is nothing normal about this day or this mission anymore, and the strained tensions between the team right now means this isn't the time or the place for that kind of levity. What normally might have cracked smiles, lead to more jokes and teasing, falls spectacularly flat in an awkward silence. The only response is a probably well deserved cold shoulder from Clay who ignores his attempt to make eye contact in favour of going back to his radio.

"Havoc, can you get us any sort of maps of the underground"

_"Negative Bravo, not in any sort of timely fashion anyways. Would need to get into city archives we don't have access to"_

Clay starts to pace as he works through the problem out loud. "So they know we are coming. There is an unpredictable underground network at play. And they may be reinforced with explosives. Nothing ideal about any of that is there."

Sonny suspects it was meant as a rhetorical question but Blackburn obviously agrees with the assessment.

_"Bravo 2, recommend pulling back. We can re-asses the situation and re-inforce your numbers prior to engagement."_

Clay's face twists sourly at that option, obviously not in favour of it.

Before he can answer one way or another Trent weighs in, solemn and stony faced "Maybe that's the best option. We already got one person blown up today."

Nuh uh.

No way.

He's come firmly around to Brock's point of view. They didn't come all this way, do all this just to turn around now. Bravo doesn't run from a fight.

And yet when he looks over at their current leader he isn't disagreeing with Trent. Isn't making a decision one way or another yet.

Sonny's had enough of this.

He reaches and turns on his coms "Ray what's your take. We need to proceed here right?"

Now Clay glares at him. And Sonny stares back defiantly, he's over playing by the rules official or unofficial. All he wants is to get this god forsaken mission and if he has to phone a friend to help speed that along then so be it.

There's a long deliberate pause and then Ray's voice comes through firmly with a subtle hint of admonishment like only Ray Perry can do _"Boots on the ground make the call. It's Bravo 2's decision." _

Thanks for nothing Ray.

That was thoroughly unhelpful and left them exactly where they were before. Not that he's exactly surprised but it was worth a shot. Not much to lose at this point.

He raises his head to find Clay staring coldly at him. Okay maybe one thing to lose. Their friendship might be yet another casualty lost to the mission at this rate.

Spenser deliberates another long second, refusing to be rushed or swayed. Finally he grimaces and opens his mouth to speak, Sonny turns away in disgust, knowing the answer that's coming. He might as well start packing up now. If they are going to run away like cowards they can at least do it quickly and efficiently.

"Grab your gear. We are going in"

His hand freezes over his bag and he pauses there, partially bent over, frozen in place as he sorts through the rush of relief, anger, and eager anticipation that floods him.

He slowly straightens up, turning to face Spenser who is watching him carefully.

Sonny opens his mouth, not exactly sure what to say, but sure he probably should say something. Unable to come up with the right words the intention dies in his throat.

He struggles for a minute and then tells himself it's not the time now anyways. That there will be time to make this right later.

Clay seems to be in agreement, turning away and going over to consult with Trent without another backwards glance.

Sonny briefly wonders if he will regret missing that moment down the road.

Within a few minutes the team has a new plan and is formed up in place to execute. There is no more time to second guess, no more time to wonder or regret, and thankfully no more time to feel.

What Sonny can feel is the world closing in around him. His focus narrowing to the small lens, the men to this left and right, the path ahead, the tactical considerations, thats all he sees.

3 foot world.

To his right and just ahead he hears Clay's voice, confident and certain now. "Execute. Execute."

And then the world explodes with a blur of motion and he falls.

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	6. Chapter 6

Clay is well aware that he is skating on thin ice right now. One wrong move away from things snowballing quickly into a full on brawl or a complete mutiny which would be the true cherry on top of this shitshow sunday of a mission.

Sonny's pushback is expected, even if it hurts a little extra coming from his best friend. When Trent and Brock start questioning things though, he knows the situation is dire. That they are all way off kilter and probably by rights have no business trying to run an opp in this current state.

He tries to tell himself it's just that, a temporary state, something that will correct back towards normal eventually.

It probably won't be quick, or smooth, and this loss will change them all in some ways, but he's choosing to believe that the loss of Jason hasn't broken Bravo beyond repair, despite current appearances.

They just need to get back. Get out of this high pressure situation and take the time and space needed to grieve in a safe environment. And that means first things first he needs to find some way to complete this mission without anyone dying (from friendly fire or otherwise)

The problem is the parameters suck. For lack of any better words to describe it, they really really _really_ suck.

They don't have the numbers.

Running with five is doable in some circumstances for some missions. Jason obviously thought it was enough here because they never picked up a sixth man to fill in for Ray. Unfortunately that now means they are down to four which is well below what he would usually consider the minimum for an assault on a fixed position of this size.

Especially since they probably don't even have the element of surprise anymore. If he had to bet all their security is probably staged up right behind those doors just waiting for them to come through.

And yet he knows that it's his job to come up with a way to get it done despite all of that. Jason would never have backed down from this kind of challenge. Not with these kind of stakes.

This is their job. This is what they do. This is what makes them a tier one unit.

So now this is his job. To get creative and think outside the box. The only problem is his head keeps drifting back to another kind of box. One that's draped in a Star Spangled Banner and ready to be carried to its final resting place.

He shakes that image away in a hurry because he needs to focus on anything and everything else right now.

He can do this.

There has to be a way.

Jason would have found a way because Bravo one always had the answers. Right from the very first mission Clay was in awe of how the man could take any situation and seemingly bend it to work for him through what sometimes seemed to be his sheer force of will.

And that's it.

His first full mission with the team….

Four years ago on the border of China and Afghanistan, he can clearly remember his younger stupider self getting put in his place by Jason. Chided for being too ready to react and give chase to the Russians rather than think it out first, understand the board and play to their strengths to get ahead.

That's not a mistake he intends to make now.

Ironically, the thing that will turn the tables for them here is the exact same if was then.

Cerberus.

The other side may have the upper hand, more men, better cover and possibly explosives but they have the hair missile and if they do this right... The beginnings of a plan start to come together piece by piece. A way they can retake the element of surprise and level more in their favour.

What they lack in sheer numbers. They can make up for in smarts, stealth, and creating situations that plays to their better training.

He can see it all now, laid out in his mind. Step by step.

It's going to work.

It has to work.

Briefing the team goes smoothly. Their surprising lack of argument and unanimous support gives him a welcome sense of confidence that he is finally on the right track.

He remains completely confident and sure about that right up until they are standing on the roof line and he has to actually give the order to move_. _

Then the doubt hits him with all the force of a round to the gut.

That same sense of unease from the beginning of the mission reappears so suddenly and so strongly it almost sends him staggering over. This time it isn't hard to pinpoint the source. He doesn't have to think hard on it to realize why he is suddenly terrified overwhelmed and horrified with the very real, very jarring idea that this is _his plan_. His call. If anything goes wrong it's all on him. Sure, he's brainstormed mission plans before, contributed ideas that have turned into operational outlines. Jason's even given him the opportunity to take the lead a few times but it's always been controlled, with the clear understanding that Bravo 1 would step in at any time if Clay misstepped. A security blanket he never thought he needed until its not there anymore.

As the moment lengthens he knows it's now or never. The team is exposed here on the ledge. They need to go now before they are seen and they lose the unexpectedness of this entry point he is counting on.

Clay looks to his left at Trent and Sonny, standing there, ready to take the plunge with him. Then to his right at Cerb strapped securely into Brock's harness, with just one paw trustingly wrapped around his handler's leg for stability.

That level or trust and connection is what defines Bravo and despite everything it's clear in this moment that this is still Bravo. Whatever happened, whatever was said Clay chooses to trust in his team. To trust that his teammates will put aside anything that they are feeling towards him and the mission and come through when it really counts now.

He takes a deep breath and says calmly.

"Execute, execute"

On his command four locks disengage as one. Bravo team releases their hold and rappels down falling in a beautifully controlled rush of air to arrive within inches of the target windows.

The infil is in beautiful harmony even though it's operators aren't.

They move with complete noise discipline, not even a carabiner clinks, and Trent true to his word and shatters the glass ultrasonically.

They enter in perfect synchronization and this time they stay together as they push inwards.

Cerb leads the way through each room and Clay's nerves steady a little each time the dog inspects a door and doesn't sit.

He breathes a little easier each time they quietly breach another room, kill another tango and secure another floor without anybody being any the wiser.

The tango's don't get wind of their presence until the team is practically on top of them and he takes more satisfaction than he thought possible in the surprise that crosses their faces when they finally realize the situation much too late.

Most of them get mowed down before they can even move.

A few of them manage to escape the initial hail of bullets and start to scatter. Some of the hostages take advantage of the reprieve to run as well so things get chaotic for a second and Bravo has to work hard to pick the right targets out and avoid catching any innocents in the crossfire.

Finally a few hairy seconds later the situation is largely under control.

Trent and Clay have the victims all corralled back into one area and are working on convincing them that they are the good guys. That they are safe now. Sonny and Brock follow after the couple tangos who managed to evade the initial containment.

Trent immediately starts wading in amongst the victims, visually inspecting and starting a preliminary triage. Clay does the same from his security position, scanning through the crowded mass of humanity in varying states of malnutrition and maltreatment, gratified to see that if nothing else they seem to have gotten here in time. The relief settles through him, releasing a lungful of air he didn't realize he was holding. As the adrenaline fades, his head pounds and hand sharply aches at his side and he longs to just slide down the nearest wall and sit for a moment before dealing with the rest of this.

"_Five to two, Three and I located a tunnel entrance in the second office in the eastern quadrant. 3 squirters went down. Permission to pursue."_

Brock's voice in his ear reminds him the job is not done yet. That he needs to keep it together just a little bit longer because there are still more decisions to be made.

Going after them is a risky play because they've already spread themselves too thin. He also doesn't relish the idea of going into unknown tunnels on someone else's turf so and technically they have already achieved their objective. They could go home now and hold their heads high for a job well done. Except that's not enough for Bravo. That's not enough for him. The decision to go forward this time feels easier this time. Clay doesn't know if it's the right choice but it's the one he's going to be able to live with. Those few remaining assholes don't get to live to see another day, move another shipment or ruin another life.

Also, who is he kidding, there's a good chance sonny is going to do it anyways, permission or not. Hell he's probably long gone down the tunnel.

Clay calls over to Trent.

"You good here?"

Bravo's medic gives a quick nod, focused in on listening to his patients breathing.

"Bravo 5 go ahead. I'll catch up to you. Watch your six."

He takes a breath and then addresses Havoc "Building clear. 8 tangos down. Bravo 4 is maintaining the contained area with 34 victims and has started triaging. The rest of us are flushing some squirters out of the tunnels."

_"Roger that Bravo 2. I copy passing Elm and Evergreen. I'll alert local police that we have men underground and advise to proceed with hostage care and scene containment._

Right, forgot the call signs, rookie move. Clay doesn't have time to dwell on that mistake because he is already on the move, hustling after his guys.

He pauses briefly at the top of the tunnel entrance. Flipping his nods on and then keying his coms "Bravo 3 and 5, one friendly approaching from the rear."

Clay doesn't wait for a response, not even sure if their communications will work underground. He scales down the ladder quickly and then speeds along the corridor. He can hear movement not too far along, and knows he is approaching Sonny and Brock's position.

An opening to his left catches his attention. He pauses briefly to study a small offshoot that branches out from the main tunnel. On a hunch he decides to check it out quickly, interested to see where it goes. He makes it about 20 feet in when the area widens drastically and the walls become covered with crates stacked multiple crates high. Clay crouches down, peeking into the top of the nearest one, that seems to have been separated and opened already.

Raw explosives. Interesting...Suddenly the size of the blast that took Jason out makes more sense. If something set one of these puppies off. Yeah, that would do it. He doesn't recall anything about them moving this quantity of explosive materials, or really any quantity, in the briefing.

He stares further down the tunnel, past the boxes to where the path curves and disappears around a bend. Clay longs to explore further, see where it goes, understand more of what has happened today but he needs to get back to his guys so he reluctantly turns around.

He is almost back to the entry point when he hears a commotion break out further down the main tunnel in the direction of where he knows his men are.

Clay's stomach drops and he breaks out into a cold sweat.

Up ahead he hears Sonny's voice yell out "Brock! No!" followed up by the distinctive sound of Cerb yipping sharply. There are more barks, growls, more sounds of wrestling and struggle and then a few agonizing, terrifying, seconds later while he is still too damn far away do anything about any of it he hears Sonny cry out again. This time a full roar of pain that echoes off the nearby walls and down around the corridor towards him. And then things go quiet.

No.

No. No. No!

The silence hangs. His heart stops beating, his lungs stop working and all he can hear is the echo of his feet pounding on the ground as he sprints in their direction.

Clay's running with all he's got but is terrified to actually arrive at his destination.

He didn't just get two more of his teammates killed. He couldn't have.

He couldn't have... Right?

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_Poor Clay just can't catch a break this mission. Sorry, not sorry. _


	7. Chapter 7

Brock touches down underground, dropping softly onto his feet and then down further onto his knees and leaning his chest forward so Cerberus, still clipped securely to his chest, can get it's paws can down to the ground as well. Four furry feet immediately start scrambling, stretching out to find purchase on the ground and instantly trying to set off. His dog pulls impatiently in the opposite direction, leaning and sniffing and ready to start exploring the tunnel.

He murmurs soothingly under his breath "hold… hold" and loosens Cerb off the carabiner on his vest but is careful to still keep him secured on a short line.

Less encumbered now, Brock pivots smoothly, turning on one knee and raising his gun to set security on their position.

Cerb crouches down next to him, quivering with eagerness but staying in place as commanded.

"Thats it," he praises quietly. "That's it."

He glances up, watching Sonny slowly pick his way down the ladder, The broader man is having a much harder time with the descent and is unsteadily making his way through the tight space bumping and scraping into walls with no shortage of audible curses and a few loose rocks sent crashing down from above.

Peripherally he sees Cerb crawl one step forward while his attention is elsewhere. When he glance down again the dog freezes in place. Busted. His sometimes scarily human like dog glances guiltily back up at him and then whines softly and lowers its head to the ground with a distinctive grumble.

Brock has never sympathized with his dog more.

He too shifts impatiently, eager to head off after the fading footsteps of the three tangos they are pursuing.

Brock has never considered himself a vengeful person.

He takes great pride in maintaining his even disposition as a matter of course and always taking the extra time to consider both sides of any situation. Bravo 5 has on more than one occasion stared uncomprehendingly at Sonny as the short tempered man went off the rails over one thing or another or lost himself on some sort of half cocked revenge mission.

Right now he kind of gets it though.

Maybe for the first time in his life he really gets it.

There's a previously undiscovered part of him rising to the surface right now that he isn't proud of and will try to shove back down again when this is all over. That side of him is finding something incredibly satisfying about the very idea of this hunt right now. It longs to let Cerb go and follow in his partner's wake as the dog chases and runs down anything in his path. He won't be in a hurry to call the dog off either when it finally catches his prey.

He doesn't like it though. Because its also the same part of him that has made him say and do things he normally wouldn't on this mission. Picking fights with teammates, arguing with his team leader. That's not usually him. It's not normally this team. He doesn't like what this situation has meant for everyone involved and isn't proud of how this regularly unbreakable group has collapsed in on itself in a hurry when they should be leaning on each other the most.

Down below the surface here, maybe this is the perfect place to cool off. To find some much needed calmness, to collect themselves and find clarity in the mission again so that they can regroup and get through the reality that awaits them at the surface.

Finally, with a grunt Sonny navigates the last few rungs of the ladder and makes a not so delicate landing. He taps Brocks shoulder and Brock rises, unclipping Cerb in one fluid motion.

He doesn't even have to give the command.

Cerb is off like a hair missile. Flying down the path, straight and true.

The tunnel ahead of them is dark. It's simply lit in a few sporadic places and even with their nods it's hard to see. The walls widens in some spots and narrow in others and there are uneven parts of the walls that jut out unexpectedly and are hard to distinguish in the eerie green lens offered by their head gear.

Despite all that they make quick work in pursuit.

A few minutes in Sonny breaks off to clear an alcove.

Brock proceeds carefully ahead, following the skitter scatter of Cerb's claws on the hard ground.

Back a ways now he hears Sonny swearing softly. He has a sneaky suspicion the man just just stubbed his toe and he smothers a laugh.

Pushing onwards behind his four legged partner who still leads the way ahead he continues on following the faint footsteps still further along in the distance.

Suddenly footsteps register much closer, a movement come out from behind an unseen part of the wall. A heavy weight blindsides him, slamming him across into the opposite wall and dislodging his helmet and nods with the impact of his head into the hard rock side.

The sudden darkness is disorienting, a weight pushes down on him, twisting and driving them both to the ground. He struggles to find his footing, to find the threat but then the threat finds him. Strong, powerful hands at his throat, crushing and sealing off his airway and his world narrows further.

Brock tries desperately to get his hands loose. Failing that he tries to make a noise, to call for help from Sonny or Cerb, but he has no air. All that comes out is a strangled sound that is a bit like a pitiful whine

It's really not funny. But it is.

Oxygen deprivation is a funny thing because he really should be panicking right now. But somewhere, some delirious part of his brain thinks its funny. He's going out with a whimper, not a bang like Jason.

And then a blur of fur he'd know anywhere is in the mix. Biting, snarling. Snapping.

He has no idea how Cerb knew or maybe he was just on his way back to check on his human anyways, either way dammit he loves that dog.

The hold releases, enough for a blessedly cool whistle of air to go through his abused throat and into his burning lungs. There is a slight improvement in clarity and he works to get his arms up and out from underneath, ready to prevent a second attack, except the weight is still pressing down. He can't quite find the leverage he needs.

He hears his name shouted, it rings painfully loud in the confined space.

Sonny has caught up back and the guy goes flying off him, Cerb too. There's a yelp as his dog gets caught in the frey.

That gets him fighting to get up. Still gasping for air, vision blinking in and out on him in a blurred spinning lens that won't find its focus. He pants and sways as he gets to his knees, pushing himself himself up and off the wall. He needs to find his dog. He needs to help Sonny. Brock's eyes squint in the darkness fighting to adjust so can make out any familiar shapes in the chaos around him.

There.

Sonny is down grappling on top of his attacker, wrestling, reaching for weapons he can't get out. The Texan gives up and uses what God gave him, laying into the tango with hard blows from above. He's got the upper hand until another, and a third emerge from the shadows ahead and piles on top of Bravo three. Now its three on one and they are around Sonny's neck, pulling at his arm, sending blows to his stomach and ribs. Slowly Sonny loses his position on top of the one guy after taking a few hard blows to the chest from the man in front. Cerb goes at that one, attacking the offending limb, except that gives the one at the back a lane to get in closer. Brock makes it to his feet, pulls his sidearm but wavers. He can't see straight even, his nods are long gone and even if he could aim properly in these close quarters, with this much movement, it's a no go.

So he does what he can, follows Sonny's example and takes a running tackle into the pile, taking the top guy, the one draped over Sonny's neck from the back, off of the pile of wrestling limbs.

They roll and struggle, and this time Brock is ready for it. He pulls the guy against him, flipping them both onto their backs, pulling the buddy down on top with an arm securely around his neck. Brock's radius crushes down into his carotid.

The guy thrashes hard, his head coming back hard driving the back of his skull into the front of Brock's face. It explodes at impact, a shock of pain, a wash of blinking stars across his vision and a deluge of blood pouring down into his mouth, trickling into his throat, making him gag on the metallic taste. He presses his lips firmly closed and struggles to breathe through a rapidly swelling nose and already abused throat.

His vision swims, distorting oddly, but he doesn't release. He can't release. Hands reach up and claw at his face, the guy's legs kick and flail trying to find leverage but he counters with his own limbs pinning, hooking on and refusing to be dislodged. Brock rides out the bucking form above him counting down in his head.

A few feet away, Sonny roars out in pain and Brock's swivels his head around to see a knife now somehow involved in the fray. It swings out and away covered in blood.

Shit. Sonny.

He's almost there, just a few more seconds and then he can help.

He sees more teeth flashing. Breathes out as he sees Sonny wrestle the knife to a safer distance from his body but he still can't seem to fully gain control of it. Keeps taking blows from the other unarmed guy who is fighting off the furry menace at the same time.

Finally, finally his guy goes limp.

Brock frantically tries to detangle himself. Desperate to get out from under the now deadweight laid across him and go to Sonny's aid.

And then Clay comes rushing in and enters the frey out of nowhere. He grabs the hand with the knife, twisting and reposesses it to drive it down into the guys throat, quickly ending that side of the fight.

Sonny's left with just the one now and makes quick work of him, swinging the only remaining assailant headfirst into the nearest wall where he drops like a rock. Clay steps over and zap straps his hands and feet. Clambers over the dead one he disposed of and does the same to Brock's unconscious friend and then leans over hands, on knees and takes a few deep breaths.

For a few seconds there's only the sounds of panting that fill the space, from three exhausted men and one very content looking dog who lies in the middle of the carnage proudly as if to say "look, I found them all"

Brock, spits out a mouthful of blood and then pinches gently, wincing as he tries to get the blood to stop flowing from his nose.

"You guys alright?" Clays tone is slightly panicked, making it clear they gave him a bit of a scare. To be honest it gave Brock a bit of a scare too.

He tries to sound more calm than he feels "Yeah, all good." Clay doesn't quite seem to buy it and Brock can't really blame him. The blood streaming down his face and shirt doesn't quite make that a convincing statement. But its just a broken nose. There's nothing they can do about it here. And its nothing he can't ignore once he gets the bleeding stopped.

Sonny on the other hand. He's worried how much damage that knife did. Clay obviously feels the same, turning his sharp gaze to Bravo 3.

Sonny also waves him off. "Just a gash" He tears off a pieces of his t-shirt and wraps it around his arm.

Clay and Brock roll their eyes, neither missing the way the man is hunched over slightly and still breathing a bit funny.

Clay's inspecting gaze lingers on his friend for a second, obviously trying to decide if it's worth pushing the issue. Maybe weighing the likelihood that Sonny's carefully placed arm is in an effort to hide something more serious like a penetrating stab wound underneath it. Short of strip searching the man, which might set off a whole other type of combat situation, Spenser evidently decides to take his word on it for now and his eyes finally break away, roving further down the tunnel ahead of them where Cerb is now sniffing curiously a few feet away.

Brock can tell Clay wants to follow the dog. Wants to explore it the tunnel to see where else it goes and what other secrets its hiding. But instead the man shakes his head seemingly coming to the conclusion that other things need to be prioritized right now.

They hogtie and haul the two unconscious men upstairs leaving the body where it is. Above ground they happily hand off their cargo to the local police. Then in unspoken agreement they hightail it back to Jason. This time the decision is crystal clear, there's no discussion, no arguments needed.

He is right where they left him.

And just like that all the extra energy, the anger, the drive, all disapates. The team seemingly deflates, nothing left to do now but wait for Blackburn to come with casualty assistance to move Jason and that ride is still approximately 60 mikes out.

There's nothing left to say and in that silence, whats left of the team separates, drifting apart with no apparent need to be together right now. Its hard not to see that as a sign of something more than just this moment. Trent never even came back with the team, instead choosing to stay behind to help with the medical efforts at the other building. Clay quickly confirms the body is still in place, still there, still dead, and then leaves the room and can be heard pacing in the hallways, communicating with Havoc and local police on scene. Sonny in contrast pulls up a mangled piece of what looks like it used to be a chair and sits next to Jason, clearly not going anywhere anytime soon.

Brock remains for a while too. But Cerb is anxious in the room, whining and crying and refusing to settle. No amount of cajoling or commands will convince the dog to relax.

He wonders if it's the explosives residue is triggering this response from his dog. It's strange though because he isn't indicating as he's trained. And Cerb doesn't usually react to already exploded ordinances.

It could just be the smell in general.

Brock is having a hard time with the nauseating smell of death in the room and Cerb's nose is something like 40 times more sensitive.

So he takes pity on the dog, and himself, and goes outside to wait.

Wonders around in the early morning light, taking in deep lungfuls of crisp, non tainted air. Watches a few bystanders starting their work day at nearby building. They all glance curiously at the police tape, gazes lingering for a moment, hoping to see something before they finally go inside probably for a lot of very interesting water cooler discussion gossip to come. He wonders if they had any idea, any inkling at what has been occurring for months just a few doors over. Wonders if they ever speculated, debated at lunch or dared to peek in a window, if they didn't they certainly will feel like idiots when this all hits the news. If they will go home and tell their wives, their kids about it at the dinner table.

The thought of happy domestic bliss like that. A wholesome family with all its pieces sends a renewed pang of grief through him. Sharp and hot, like a bullet that goes in through his abdomen and then ricochets around in his internal organs. It ping pongs around in his stomach, travels up and does a number on his lungs, before heading down over to his kidney for a little punching bag practice. It leaves a dim, lingering ache in its path that doesn't fade away even once the sharp pain finally lodges itself somewhere in his low back. He almost wishes this was something physical because then Trent could shoot him up with some morphine, dig around in his stomach, maybe stick in some staples. There would be a lot of little painful rehab but eventually it would be over. It would pass.

He knows from experience that this kind of grief won't.

And that whatever he is feeling it's going to be a hundred times worse for Emma and Mikey. He may have lost a mentor and a friend, the country may have lost one of its finest, but beyond all that and infinitely more importantly than any of that, Jason's kids just lost a father.

That kind of pain is unfathomable. He knows that from experience.

And while the team will do the best they can to be there for them, it will be a drop in the bucket against the waves of grief and upheaval that will be trying to drag them under for the rest of their life.

They were still trying to claw their way back up after Alana. Trying to find a lifeline back to normal and now they've just lost one of the only things keeping them a float.

Now all they will have to hang on to is a folded up flag, some charred dog tags, and Alana's rings.

Some fabric and metal on a bedside table or a bookshelf instead of living, breathing, loving parents.

Brock frowns slightly, trying to remember if he they recovered Alana's ring earlier.

He vividly remembers Sonny holding up the tags. That image is burned in there, will always be the moment he associates with realizing what happened. Who it was on the floor in front of them. He doesn't remember if they got her rings though. If they found the other chain, ever present around Jason's neck these days. Thinner, gold, and with two rings that they all pretend not to see him hold on to sometimes.

The more he thinks about it the surer he is that they didn't and that its probably still in there. Either still around his neck or maybe dislodged, but either way he wants to make sure they get it. Its not much, but its better than nothing, and maybe it will bring them some small amount of comfort down the road.

So he forces himself and Cerb to go back inside, just for a moment. A small unpleasant mission that he can carry out while they wait.

Ends up standing there over the body, trying to make himself actually do it. He was really hoping the chain would be obviously visible and a quick inspection tells him that is not the case. Which means its burried somewhere under layers of charred skin, and melted fabric and everything in him revolts at the idea of digging around in there.

He is already gagging and he hasn't even started. Can't figure out where to start. How to do this.

Sonny's voice interrupts his internal debate. "What'r ya looking for?"

He answers a question with a question "Sonny where did you find his tags?"

Sonny lifts his head from his hands, confused and then shrugs, seemingly deciding he doesn't actually care. He gestures unhelpfully in the general direction of the body.

Brock feels his blood pressure rise, swallows down the biting retort he wants to give and turns back to his self appointed task. Fine he will do this on his own if he has too.

A few seconds later Sonny surprises him by following it up with something a little more specific "By his hand."

Well at least thats something more to work with. Brock scrubs a hand over his face, wincing at the pain it reignites in his nose and the throbbing headache that's forming.

Nothing left to do but actually do it, he crouches down and starts searching around Jason's right hand, trying to breathe through his mouth as much as possible.

He fumbles around unsuccessfully, getting frustrated and swallowing hard against his gag reflex that is vehemently objecting to this plan.

After far too long a delay, Sonny offers something more helpful. "Left hand"

Left one…Fucking hell. Brock says a prayer for patience, shifting over from the right side he's been searching futilely, and ignoring Sonny's unhelpful addition of "or what's left of it"

Patience.

Don't say it.

Don't start something.

They are all grieving in different ways and he is sure Sonny isn't purposefully trying to be a dick. At least probably not, anyways.

Brock digs around as much as he can on the correct side. Unable to bring himself to actually move anything or disturb anything too deeply.

Finally he sits down, slumping back, exhausted and resigned. It's just not going to happen. They aren't on his neck, they aren't where the tags were. They aren't anywhere around his hand(s) which he can say with confidence since he searched both. The ring could have been blasted into the next room for all he knows.

Cerb whuffs in discontentment at his side. He runs a hand down over the fur, long soothing strokes. "I know buddy, I know…"

His dog ignores his attempts at comfort, staying rigid and tight under his hands. Cerb whines again, nose tilting into the air, wiggling as it sniffs over and over and his toungue coming up to lick it in a nervously.

Brock keeps petting, rhythmically stroking and taking deep breaths, in an effort to soothe himself if nothing else. He focuses on the feel of the warm, familiar fur under his hands and tries not to get swallowed up whole by all the frustration and anger and unfairness of this stupid situation. He can't even find the damn ring. Can't even pull one little miniscule silver lining out of all this. He tilts his head back stares up at the ceiling, willing the moisture back into his eyes.

It doesn't work. The tears still wiggle out and one or two slips traitorously down his cheek. At this angle its hard to breath around to his swollen nose and his headache cranks up a notch or two more so finally he gives up, bringing his head back down to level and blinks heavily. Now isn't the time for this. They still need to hold it together for a little while longer. The job is not done yet. They can't stand down yet.

He glares around him at what used to be an office, before it was blown to smithereens, trying to focus on literally anything else than what (_who_) is in front of him. Brock can't help but notice this room has some distinct similarities to the room he and Sonny found the tunnel entrance in at the other building. The office layout looks practically the same so even with most of the walls missing he can still figure out where the back wall was. And in front of that should be...yep, there's the debris of some sort of shelving system. Which means over in that far corner was where the trap door was. His gaze holds on that spot looking at the piles of rubble that have been blasted into the area. Who the hell knows whats underneath all that.

And then something glaringly obvious clicks into place. A possibility they hadn't considered yet.

The tunnel.

This building was connected to the other by a tunnel. And if one of the bad guys escaped through it...

Is it possible?

They thought there was no way out of the room, but what if there was.

Suddenly hope flares, bright and painful

An idea so implausible that he instantly dismisses it. The sheer absurdity of it actually makes him annoyed because Jason is right here in front of him dead, dog tags and all so his brain is just being stupid and spiteful.

He tries to squash it down, forget about it and move on to something else.

Except he can't let it go either.

Because there's no ring. Which is just enough room to allow a niggling little doubt to root its way in and take hold. It's like he just left the house and now is sitting in the driveway second guessing whether he left the stove on. He knows he turned it off, remembers pressing the button, remembers double checking and yet still can't drive away.

It also doesn't help that he desperately _wants_ it to be true. That level of desire certainly does not help with his attempt at rationality. Instead it fans the tiny little embers of hope until they are starting to catch on, crackling and warming him from the inside out. He feels like he's overheating, suddenly hot and sweaty in the previously very cool room.

He also knows with complete certainty that if he goes home before putting this feeling to rest he will never be able to not wonder.

Because it's Jason Hayes. And if anyone could pull off the improbable, impossible feat his brain is conjuring up, it could be him.

He gets up, just to check, that all. He needs to go check the stove one more time for his own peace of mind, to put it all to rest one last time.

Just a quick peek.

If there's no trapdoor here in this room then that settles it no harm no foul except his own damn hopes crushed and devastated again.

Brock wanders over casually to the corner and starts lifting a few pieces.

Sonny's head pops up, face comes out from under his hands "What now?"

"Nothing, just want to see something."

He lifts a few more, and feels Cerb pushing in beside him, snuffling eagerly around the piles at his feet.

Brocks lifts another larger slab off, and Cerb begins to whine. The dog starts digging frantically at the area and the flames inside him roar higher now, his heart beats faster.

He lifts off one more, feels a hint of cool air on his face.

"Brock, seriously what are you doing?"

Bravo 5 ignores Sonny's demands for an answer because he's frozen in place, staring at the corner of a very familiar tunnel entrance.

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_Yes, I am well aware I am a horrible person who is dragging this out entirely too long but everyone demanded to get their due in this one. And who am I to deny Brock and Cerb a little time to shine. On a good note the last couple chapters are all pretty much written so updates should hopefully be a bit more frequent_


	8. Chapter 8

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Trent is torn.

It's a familiar feeling these days.

He is perpetually a man of two worlds. Separating life into chunks lived at home as loving partner and then more frequent and larger pieces as an operator spent away on missions and deployments. Ever since he joined Bravo it became harder and harder to try to distinguish the two as separate and distinct things because the notions of work, and team and family, all got a little more intertwined and a whole lot more messy.

Even when he's operating he struggles to define his role solely as one thing. To some extent that's the nature of existing in Devrgu where every team member of the team must be ready to breach, shoot, defuse, negotiate or blend in sometimes all within a matter of minutes as the mission requires. But on top of that he also has to balance his responsibilities as the team's unofficially designated medic. There is no actual title, no designation or formal requirement, and yet they all know it's his name getting called when shit hits the fan and five heads will be turning his way expecting him to find a way to make it better.

Most of the time he finds a way to walk the line and to keep one foot in each world with his priorities straight and his head in the right game at the right time. Most of the time its cut and try and he can make a clear assessment based on his given role at that specific time.

Except when it isn't. Like those moments where both sides of him are called upon in a crucial moment and he can't decide who he should be for those few key seconds. How to be everything to everyone. Should he shoot first and treat later or abandon the tactical needs in favour of ensuring a life is saved? There are costs either way and sometimes he drowns in the _what ifs_ and the _could have beens_ that result from those split second decisions.

Even more despised are the moments when there is more than one injured party who needs him and frustratingly always only one of him. Sure he knows how to triage and prioritize but that doesn't make it any easier when you have to turn your back on one person to help another. Even worse when it's a brother suffering on either side which happens far too often for his liking. He's pretty sure that Bravo was put on earth to ensure he goes grey long before his time. The team will probably never know how hard it is for him to delegate and trust someone else to handle part of a situation where multiple lives are on the line. How much he fears not being around or not being able to help them when they truly need it.

And if he's brutally honest with himself he's done exactly that in abandoning them right now.

While the rest of the team eagerly packed up to return to Jason, he convinced Clay to let him remain in the temporary triage center that's been hastily assembled in the main loading docks and assembly hall.

He figures Jason would forgive him, even though Clay raised an eyebrow at his request, correctly surmising that there were lots of paramedics who probably could have managed just fine without him. Trent trusts Jason would have understood his desire to deal with the living and to help those he still can. And hell Jason Hays practically patented the whole burying one's feelings in work thing so even if he could object now Trent would happily call pot meet kettle.

He reminds himself of that when the guilt tries to rear its head again and when thoughts of the team standing a last watch without him sits like a pit in his stomach.

Trent is thankfully distracted from his rapidly derailing train of thought by a policeman escorting over another victim to his station. She's the eighth battered, beaten dehydrated, malnourished, woman who sat in this chair in front of him. This one has eyes so hollowed and so vacant, he wonders if there is still anything left doesn't even seem to have registered the fact that her life's course has just altered again. Doesn't seem at all aware that she's been snatched back from whatever unspeakable horrors were awaiting them at their next destination. Instead she sits silently in the chair, still and fragile as a statue. He's terrified he might shatter her if he even so much as exhales.

She doesn't speak, doesn't blink, or acknowledge any of his questions in any way. The only reaction he gets is a wince when he moves her wrist. The bruising pattern is distinct, and he can almost see the way it snapped under someone's strong grip, wrenching it sharply to pull her in a direction she didn't want to go. His blood boils at the thought of such unnecessary violence and he feels a renewed sense of gratitude for the bullets he expended earlier.

It's a miracle they got these women out when they did but that doesn't mean their life hasn't been drastically changed forever. The journey here alone, being kidnapped and mistreated, is more than enough of a harsh introduction into the level of cruelty and malice that exists in the bowels of humanity.

Trent slowly wraps a tensor bandage around her bruised and swollen skin, winding it up higher to wrap it around the torn skin and abrasions where she was clearly tied up at some point. He secures it with a clip, pressing down just enough to make sure its stays on but trying not to cause her any additional pain. Its one small gesture, but maybe over time, over many acts of kindness she will someday be able to trust again and find a renewed belief that not everyone is out to hurt her.

Finished, he makes a few notes on the triage placard, noting the wrist injury, her vitals, and a recommendation for an X-ray and an IV as she is one of the more dehydrated ones he's seen so far. Trent reaches up to hang it around her neck, trying not to react when she flinches away. He smiles sadly while he slowly helps her to her feet and assists her in the direction of the area they have set up for those who have already been assessed to wait for transportation to various hospitals.

He is about to wave at an officer to bring over the next victim when Clay's voice comes on the coms, terse and short.

"Bravo 3 need you back at the other building now."

There's no additional details or context provided and it probably says something about his team's track record rack record that his thoughts immediately start cataloging possible injuries that were missed, or more likely hidden, and have now become an issue.

Like he knew he should have forced Sonny to wrap those cracked ribs, but he just didn't have the energy today to fight that fight. It had already taken a tense game of chicken, several threats and seemingly five years off Trent's life just to get the man to lift his shirt so he could find out why his breathing was so off. So maybe something shifted now, he probably should have done more.

Or did he miss something with Brock. After all that with Sonny, he'd happily taken Brock at his word when he said he was fine apart from the obvious nose injury and maybe a minor concussion. Their dog handler wasn't usually one to hide injuries and Trent had taken his assessment at face value meaning now he's wondering if he would have found something had he actually looked closer. Something maybe Brock wouldn't have realized could become an issue like a swollen windpipe, internal bleeding, intracranial pressure, all things that a more thorough exam would have revealed. All things Trent would have and should have caught.

Shit.

There are only a handful of women left and the paramedics have it well under control so he packs up and convinces a local policeman to drive him between sites.

There's radio silence while he's en route which he tries to take as a good sign. No frantic calls for a medi vac. No demands for his ETA. They aren't looping HAVOC in so maybe it's not as bad as he thinks.

Except they are clearly busy with something and his brain has nothing else to do for the next 6 minutes but conjure through all sorts of different possibilities

Trent races into the building, so convinced of what he will find that he is already slinging his kit off his shoulder to start treatment.

Instead he finds them all upright.

All of them, still on their feet... and at first glance they are just as healthy as when he last saw them. His stomach untwists slightly and his panic rapidly shifts to confusion because Bravo 1 is lying forgotten and alone on the other side of the room, while the rest of his team is huddled up in the opposite corner.

It's immediately clear Sonny isn't having any breathing issues because he's barking out instructions to Clay while they manhandle a large piece of rebar out of a mess of rubble. Brock on the other hand, is on the ground now, on all fours and shoulder to shoulder with Cerberus while they both dig around with a sense of urgency that Trent really doesn't understand.

Brock contorts himself slightly, lifting a large slab of drywall and reaching under it. Cerb eagerly snuffles at his side, trying to squeeze himself in underneath just a little bit further, both of them putting themselves into precarious positions that make Trent cringe. If something shifts, or collapses… Seriously. What the hell are they thinking? What could possibly require this?

Trent takes a few steps into the room with the intent of putting an end to this lunacy, but has to stop more than once to dodge flying pieces of rubble being tossed with reckless abandon in all directions.

And then, just as he gets in close, one final slab moves.

He blinks in confusion, staring at the hole that unexpectedly appeared under all that crap.

Clay continues clearing away debris, exposing more and more of the opening. Three headlamps click on, beams of light sweeping the edges of the tunnel and down further until suddenly they stop.

Trent approaches the edge hesitantly, peering down into the thick darkness to where the three rays are transfixed onto a very human like shape below.

And then his head pivots around back to the other body so fast he probably gives himself whiplash.

He turns back again and stares in disbelief because he'd know that head of hair, that uniform, that body down them anywhere.

Which means this one up here, that mess of a human being… isn't him.

His heart races at the idea, at the possibility, chest swelling with hope and warmth even as his mind tries valiantly to temper expectations. Once again he's torn, even as he's beginning to celebrate, chalking another one up to the long list of unbelievable exploits that Bravo 1 has pulled off, he is also rapidly doing the math. That's a long way down there, even if Jason did manage to survive the explosion, even if he was alive when he went down. But the way his team is looking at him it's clear they are expecting a miracle here.

He kneels at the edge, and leans over as much as he can. It's Impossible to tell if Jason's alive. There's rocks and dust on top of him...and a puddle of blood visible from even up here.

Fuck.

And what isn't visible is any signs of movement. No chest rising and falling, no hand twitching, absolutely nothing that might indicate the man below is any luckier than the one up here.

But Trent's heart says he has to be. He has to. They didn't come this far, get this lucky for him not to be alive.

He calls down a bit hesitantly…. "Jason"

That gets no response so he raises his voice "Jason!"

"Bravo 1!" even more sharply, but there's still no response. His cries echo down deep, reverberating off the walls all the way to the bottom where Jason doesn't so much as stir.

Damnit, he needs to be down there, now.

He eyes the ladder which is clearly missing some key structural components near the top where most of the damage is. That's not going to work.

Instead he fumbles to secure a line to his vest, handing it off with brusque instructions "somebody get me tied off."

Within seconds he is repelling downward at a mostly safe speed. He reaches the bottom and doesn't even bother unhooking in favor of scrambling over to Jason's side and counting on his team to give him some extra slack in the line.

His fingers go straight to his neck, willing there to be something there. Jason's skin is shockingly cold and for a second, that's all he can focus on. Then… when he pushes down a little harder, concentrates a little more, he finally feels it, weak and thready and barely there but son of a bitch, he's alive.

Which means he's been alive this whole time, stuck down in this dingy, cold, tunnel probably wondering where the hell his team was while they were busy parading all over the city. There's little time to dwell on that uncomfortable truth right now.

Instead Trent crans his neck and shouts back up the shaft "He's alive. Get the medics here now and I need some more damn light"

He ignores the furor above him. Doesn't wait for the lights, working with what he's got and going by feel. A hand on Jason's chest shows his breathing is scarily rapid and shallow, and the man's skin is cold and clammy, pointing to shock, or maybe hypothermia given the cooler temperature down here. Possibly both.

"Heads up"

Trent glances up briefly to see a rainfall of glowsticks heading down in his direction. They land and scatter around adding an eerie incandescent green glow for him to work with.

Between that and his headlamp it's going to have to do. He's worked in worse conditions.

He focuses his torch on Jason's face and then sweeps down over his body in one smooth motion. Hypovolemic shock is immediately evident, both from the ghostly pallor and then the blood pool around his leg.

He suspects there are other injuries he can't see because clearly the man took this tumble at a bad angle. Spinal damage, skull fractures, internal bleeding are all in the realm of possibility. The blood at his hairline confirming he at least whacked his head on the way down. Jason's hypothermic. His vitals are in the tank, he's bleeding from somewhere external, and who knows where internally. If Trent makes one wrong move he could paralyze the man, cut off blood flow to his extremities or brain. Jason could end up a vegetable, forever doomed to a life dependent on machines.

Breathe Trent.

Slow it down.

He talks himself down as the surge of emotion and adrenaline bleeds into his normally composed medical assessment contaminating it with fear and panic that make it hard to think or plan.

This won't do.

Right now he just needs to be Jason's medic. Just one thing. Just one job. Just this moment.

He breathes out slowly and shuts away any other parts of him that are complicating that. Narrows his focus to the here and now. He just needs to do his job. One small step at a time

Triage.

Prioritize

So what is the biggest issue right now?

The answer comes easily now. Fingers already reaching out and searching for the source of all that blood near his leg. They sweep across a wet patch starting at his low abdomen, continuing down to his thigh.

He slides down towards it, focusing his helmet light on the gash that runs across the top of Jason's hip. It trails down like a shallow river, trickling into a much bigger, much deeper issue that looks like a nasty stab wound to his mid thigh.

Jason managed to get a tourniquet on at some point. Bloody handprints and smears speak to the herculean effort that took. Thankfully the man persevered through because it's probably the only reason he's still alive. The stab wound is still bleeding sluggishly despite the constriction above it so he presses down firmly. Disappointed when even that doesn't produce so much as a flinch from the man.

Clay calls down an update from a forgotten world far above him "Medics are two mikes out. Local cops are clearing a route to the nearest hospital for us"

Right now Trent is eminently grateful that this is one rare mission where they can actually get their man to proper facilities with no hassle. For all the red tape they dealt with at the start, all the hoops they jumped through to maintain local government support, it's worth it right now to be able to get Jason to Doctors and Surgeons with fancy CT scanners and operating tables within a matter of minutes instead of hours or days.

"How's he doing Trent?"

Right, a response to the initial update probably would have been nice. He gathers his scattered thoughts into something somewhat coherent.

"He's non-responsive. Tacky Cardiac. BP is in the tank which isn't surprising considering he's been bleeding out for over 6 hours. Likely broken bones, possible spinal damage. I'm gonna start a central line and an emergency transfusion before I move him. But he needs a hospital yesterday."

Above him he can hear Sonny swearing and he sees Clay stumble up and then out of view suddenly. Trent stares up, trying to figure out what is going on until he hears the telltale signs of someone emptying the contents of their stomach loud enough to carry even all the way down here.

The medic briefly wonders if that's the concussion he's been pretending not to have finally catching up to him or just the jarring realization that it was his decision that meant Jason was left bleeding out down here for an additional 360 or so minutes without care.

Either way he doesn't have time for that right now.

The walking wounded can wait. Torn in two once again, he is going to have to trust someone up there to take care of it because Jason needs him right now. Needs more help than Trent can give right now.

He leans back and yells upwards "I'm gonna need a backboard down here before we even try to move him. We'll have to use a basket to get the board up from here, need to keep him flat and level on the way up as much as possible."

Brock yells back something vaguely affirmative and disappears out of view.

Trent does what he can while he waits on Brock, working with quick efficiency even as his fingers start to get clumsy in the cold cavern. He gets a pressure dressing on the wound, secures the C-spine with a neck brace and starts a transfusion before he wraps it all up nice and tight in a shock blanket. He watches Jason's face intently, willing the man back to consciousness as the blood drips in. Logically he knows Jason's blood volume is still too low but he still can't help fearing this prolonged lack of consciousness speaks to other more serious problems like brain damage that he can't fix.

A shadow snuffs out the minimal light source from above and he glances up to see Brock starting to work his way down rappelling awkwardly through the cramped corridor with supplies in tow.

Behind Bravo 5 another shape leans over, Sonny's head and large shoulders obscuring most of the rest of the tunnel resists the urge to yell at the man to get back because he knows the man wants desperately to be down here helping right now. Is probably going crazy being benched for this particular job. Unfortunately when push comes to shove Brock is the better man for it, better at first aid, smaller to fit through the narrowed passageway, and doesn't have broken ribs that a harnessed descent could put enough pressure on to cause problems they don't need right now.

When Brock arrives they work quickly and efficiently to stabilize Jason and get him secured for transport.

There is no easy way to get him up and Trent doesn't really get his wish of keeping him flat or level, or really even avoiding jostling him. The tunnel shaft is too narrow at points and Trent winces and frowns as they end up having to tilt, turn and do whatever is necessary to get him out. They walk a fine line between going slow and cautious and also needing to get the man out of there so they can get him the treatment he desperately needs at a hospital. In the end he hopes they strike the right balance. Only time will tell but the fact that they are even worrying about injuries would have seemed like a luxury less than an hour ago when they were still planning funerals and casualty notifications.

The medics swarm them at the top of the hole.

Trent mostly ignores them, not bothering to catch them up and moving the backboard over to the stretcher with Brock to hurry them along. He doesn't have the time or patience to work through a language barrier and he's already done most of what can be done for him here so really he just needs them to put pedal to the medal and get them to the damn hospital.

To that end he doesn't wait for them and climbs up into the rig and parks himself at the head of the stretcher laying claim to the primary spot and forcing the paramedic who clambers up after him to take a seat on the bench beside.

As the doors close behind him he catches a glimpse of Sonny, Clay and Brock standing watching their departure. His teammates are dirty, bruised, bloody, exhausted and look damn near the ends of their ropes. He tries to give them a reassuring smile, portray more confidence in the outcome than he currently feels, knowing just how hard it must be for them to lose contact with Jason after just getting him back. He nods reassuringly one last time. It's going to be okay. They are all going to be ok.

He looks back down at his patient as they start moving.

"You hear that. You are going to be ok. Don't you make me a liar."

The paramedic starts hooking up leads to Jason's chest and Trent holds his breath watching the monitors start to register his vitals in a more precise way than his fingers could ever hope to. They are low, borderline critical, but he is still hanging on. He is still here.

Jason is a fighter, no doubt about it. The incredible depths of his stubbornness coupled with his truly appalling lack of self preservation usually exasperate the shit out of his medic but right now Trent will take every bit of that stiff-necked, hard-headed, dogged determination and straight up obstinacy, if it helps keep Jason's heart beating for just one more beat after all he's been through today.

As if to prove him right he watches Jason's blood pressure rises ever so slightly, it goes up, then down, then stays back up again. One small digit higher but it feels like a monumental milestone for the unconscious man.

"Thats it Jason. We got you now. Just keep fighting"

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	9. Chapter 9

Clay jolts back awake, lifting his head quickly and glancing around to see if anyone noticed him dozing off.

He shakes his head gently to try to clear and forces his eyes as wide as they will go and stares purposefully down at the paperwork in front of him, willing the words to come into focus and stop swimming across the page.

The low key hum of the plane is too relaxing and he quickly feels his eyes grow heavy again before he gets even one more word down onto the page. He shakes his head again more forcefully, determined to stay awake but then grimaces when that rekindles his headache from a 4 to closer to an 8.

Of course if anyone asks it's a three. It's always a three.

Clay rubs futilely at his temples trying to quell the relentless throbbing. He isn't sure if the explosion from earlier is to blame or if it's just a tension headache and he should be massaging lower where his neck muscles are tight, stretched and twisted ropes, screaming for a muscle relaxant.

Either way it's not helping his concentration when he is already struggling to find the right words for the AARs to somehow explain why everything went so off the rails.

And how one of his first missions as 2IC somehow led to his entire team injured and to them abandoning his injured team leader to bleed out for almost half a day under his watch.

He's filled these out before for Jason. Sat in this exact same spot on the plane and plowed through the paper work with no problems at all. Except now it feels completely different, he feels completely different.

Clay is immensely grateful for the team being allowed to fly back on their own regular transport this time. He's grateful for space, and for not having to deal with other people right now.

And for the impressively state of the art medical facilities on board that mean they didn't have to leave Jason behind again.

Once their leader had a few scans and got sewn up, warmed up and refueled with some extra platelets to stabilize his vitals, the Doctors determined that there was no reason he couldn't fly home with the team. The man somehow miraculously avoided any sort of spinal damage or internal bleeding, although he certainly didn't get off scot free. Learning he had a broken hip, a few cracked ribs, and a nasty concussion, made for a cranky Jason when he woke just before they were ready to transfer him out of the hospital. Even as exhausted and out of it as he was he still made his displeasure known about the expected recovery time. Although that might have had something to do with the immediate old man - bum hip jokes Sonny ruthlessly hit him with right off the bat. Roughly translated in Sonny speak to something along the lines of "Thank god you didn't die, I'm so happy you are awake and not brain dead" but Clay's just paraphrasing. The rest of the team went for a more clear and earnest approach to showing their appreciation of Bravo 1's good health even if Ray did speculate about horseshoes being shoved up somewhere special.

They are all acutely aware of how lucky they got. Trent has already expounded at length about the sheer improbability of what occurred and Jason escaping without anything more permanent. Then there are all the other factors that will probably haunt them all for a long while like what if Brock hadn't found the tunnel? What if they left with out him and buried some asshole in his place? Or what if Clay's second guessing and cautious approach to the mission had delayed them just a few more hours. Would Jason have been able to hang on that long? Would they have gone through all that just to find him dead at the bottom of the shaft?

It all still feels too good to be true. Like they couldn't have actually gotten this lucky could they? In their line of work they are too familiar with the fact that the world doesn't usually work like this. Some of the best people around, those literally willing to lay their lives down for their country, get shitty breaks _all_ the time. It never seems to go the other way.

So Clay can't relax or trust in this unexpected good fortune and is just sitting here waiting for the other shoe to fall. For fate to drop one more crisis into the mix just to wrap everything up neatly with a bow.

His eyes unconsciously drift over to check on Jason again scanning the on board medical area where a corpsman hovers nearby.

The mission is finished but he still finds himself watching, counting, status checking all his teammates.

Trent is all too easy to find because he's right there in the thick of things, carefully monitoring Jason's vitals even when he probably should stand down and get some well deserved rest. Clay can already imagine the face he would get if he suggested Bravo 4 turn it over to the the on duty medical officer, he's going to save his breath on that one.

Likewise he doesn't have to look far to find Sonny sitting on guard just outside the "hospital wing" of the aircraft. Bravo 3's stitched and bandaged arm is wrapped carefully around his tender ribs while he's using the other more functional wing to knock back a cold one.

Brock, a little further along is sprawled out on a bench with a furry pillow, sleeping off the morphine the doctor gave him to reset his nose.

Clay adjusts his left hand in his lap, pushing the flaming, throbbing part down onto the ice pack he's got resting down there. Now that he's stopped moving it's abundantly clear whatever's wrong is more than just a sprained wrist. The swelling is mildly concerning because every time he looks down another tendon or vein has disappeared into the growing puffy blob overtaking most of his lower hand. There also a sharper radiating pain he can't ignore that flares with the slightest movement and he can actually feel bones grinding together in ways he's pretty sure they shouldn't. He can call it a sprain all he wants but there's probably going to need to be a date with an X-Ray machine in his future.

It can wait though. The ice will keep the swelling under control and as long as he keeps it still the pain is manageable Tylenol he popped earlier will get him home, or at least hopefully through all this paperwork even if its surprisingly slow one handed. Thank god his right hand is the still functional one.

Once he has everything squared away, gets everyone home safe and taken care of he will sneak off and get it looked at.

Blowing out a breath of frustration over the looming casts and rehab in his future he returns his focus back to a more pressing problem. Back to the empty paper and the words that just won't come, the emotions that swirl tumultuously every time he tries to list out the mission step by step and then just ends up reliving it again, all of it.

"It was the right call."

Clay's head shoots up. Surprised by the disturbance in the very heavy, very pointed silence that's been floating around for the last couple hours.

Ray plunks down next to him at the table

"You did good kid."

Clay instantly shakes his head, no time for well intentioned and very misdirected placation or whatever this is.

He doesn't deserve any sugar coating or a patented Perry pep talk

"I brought everyone back broken, almost got Jason killed, and then abandoned him to die alone," he says flatly.

Because yeah, when you put it like that. He did real good.

Ray isn't put off though, he just tilts his head in that damn understanding way he has and says gently "things got a little bit real out there hey?"

_That_ Clay can more than agree to..."Yeah, but if you had been there…"

Now Ray is the one shaking his head and cuts him off firmly "It would have been the exact same."

Clay audibly scoffs at that, not accepting it for a second. But Ray won't let him have it and presses on trying to hammer his point home "You better than anyone should know that sometimes you can do everything right and things still don't go our way. You've had some tough breaks with Bravo over the last couple years. Do you blame me for that hole you accidentally explored in Al qaim? Or Adam for the round you took in India? It was Jason's idea to go drinking in Manila, is your leg on him?"

That has Clay looking away because Ray's earnest attempts to help are inadvertently picking at some scars that barely closed over in the first place and just got rubbed a little raw on this mission.

He looks back at the paper, hoping for an escape route and instead just finding blank space. He's choking on the words that are so hard to write, and even harder to say even to Bravo 2. And the problem is Clay doesn't have an answer for that question. Because the short answer is "No"...of course not. But that's comparing apples to oranges. All of those things happened under competent experienced leaders. Who's to say Jason or Ray or anyone else reading this AAR won't see all sorts of decisions they would have made different, outcomes that could have been changed.

Ray finally bails him out when it becomes clear he isn't going to respond.

"It's not as easy as it looks to be the boss is it? Whole hell of a lot easier to see all the angles from the outside. Decisions are crystal clear till you are right in the thick of it and actually have to make them and then there's just an awful lot of grey. And you know what that's ok, sometimes there is no right or wrong call, you just have to make one and live with it."

That gets Clay looking back up at the man, aghast and despairing. He isn't sure if he wants to laugh or cry at the absurdity of that.

He isn't willing to accept what Ray's selling right now and glancing back around the plane at his teammates, they hadn't been either, r. They had questioned his "grey" decision with good reason.

Ray easily picks up on that seed of doubt festering down beneath the surface. He continues on like he never stopped in the first place.

"…And then add in orders to your teammates, to your friends. Sometimes when they don't want to hear them. Nothing easy about that is there?"

Clay nods at that one. There's little use trying to hide anything from Ray. The overly perceptive man probably picked up on all the tension in the chatter without even trying. He's too astute not to have figured out something was going on even in the selective parts of their communication that Havoc was looped in on. And if somehow Perry hadn't caught it over comms their body language and irregular behavior is probably a glowing advertisement to anyone looking that something is off. The team has been much more scattered and distant than normal since their return, each finding their own tiny pockets of the plane and it's very telling

"For what it's worth, I think you did the best you could in incredibly difficult circumstances. No one can ask for anything more…. Give them time. They will surprise you."

He clasps Clay on the shoulder, squeezing and holding the contact for a moment and then rises to leave.

Ray Perry gets a step or two away, and then freezes and turns around for one last word "Oh, almost forgot. You should get Trent to look at that hand."

Clay starts guiltily, surprised to be called out on something he thought he had hidden well.

Ray just sits there, waiting for an acknowledgement with his usual enigmatic smile and a hint of fond exasperation.

Clay tries to play it off, "It's just bruised."

"Bull. That my friend is broken. I'm no doctor, or medic, and even I can say that with confidence."

Clay shakes his head, flexing his fingers again and feeling the sharp cramp of pain ripple through reigniting a bone deep ache that says the man is bang on.

He shrugs, not willing to admit Ray is right, even though he probably is.

Just great, another broken bone. Just what this team needs, another injury. There's barely even a point to Ray getting cleared hot now because at this rate, with only Trent escaping this mission unscathed, Bravo is going to be on the sidelines for a while anyways.

Ray is still standing there watching Clay.

"Go see Trent" he urges, barely finishing his sentence before Clay is already starting to dismiss the idea.

"Nah, he's busy with Jason. If it's broken it will still be broken when we get back."

Ray rolls his eyes at what is probably terrible logic on Clay's part. But it's also technically not wrong either. He turns to leave tossing a final piece of advice over his shoulder as he moves off. "Careful you don't want it to set wrong that's how Sonny's face ended up looking the way it did."

Clay can't help the chuckle that escapes at that before he turns back to the paper in front of him, spirits a little lighter, and task seeming just a little bit less daunting now.

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When he's said his piece Ray pushes away leaving the kid to think it through. He knows it probably won't penetrate fully right now because he is well experienced with the many layers of ego and hard hardheadedness that Clay Spenser wraps around himself like a ballistic shield. But he hopes it will eventually soak in and penetrate over time as Jason gets better and the team cools off.

And if it doesn't then he will remind the kid again and again until it does, bash him over the head with it if needed. It's not like he isn't well accustomed to having to do that for some other stubborn leaders he can think off.

Speaking of stubborn... He knows for a fact they've covered the whole hiding injuries with Spenser what feels like a hundred times because he personally has delivered that lecture at least half of the times. And yet here they are again.

So he gets his dig in. Tries to appeal to the kid's common sense and then rapidly gives up on that and tries a good old fashioned guilt trip. He predictably gets stonewalled, deflected and then given excuse after excuse until eventually he throws his hands up (because his aren't broken) and calls it a day vowing to check in with medical later and re-visit the issue if need be. Ray isn't above playing a trump card and threatening to get some brass involved.

He leaves Clay with a final parting joke, happy to see the man's too serious face brighten infinitesimally if even for a short second. Ray hopes he managed to lighten the weight on those heavy shoulders that carried far too big a burden on this mission.

He knows the team will sort itself out.

Change is always tricky, even temporary change. And then go and light a match and throw it in with some accelerant when Jason went down… yeah, not an ideal scenario. But he means what he said, they will all come around eventually. This team is too special to let something like this come between them. There may be a few feathers ruffled right now but they will smooth it over and make peace in their own ways when the time is right.

Sure enough, Ray watches from a distance as Trent exits the hospital wing and walks pointedly over in Clay's direction. Their medic ignores Clay's protests and attacks him with a pen light which gets quite a reaction. Trent appears satisfied right up until he notices the ice pack and swollen appendage that Clay didn't have time to fully hide. Ray smiles in satisfaction and then laughs to himself enjoying watching Sawyer work through the same exasperated reaction he had albeit in slightly more dramatic and blustery form. Clay may have escaped a lecture from Ray but he isn't so lucky this time. Trent efficiently multitasks giving the kid all kinds of shit while wrapping his "not sprained" wrist and splinting his "not broken "hand.

Satisfied the kid is taken care of, Ray drifts over to go check in on Jason. He is gratified to find the man finally awake although not exactly coherent. They dosed him up pretty good for the flight back so Ray gets a few sleepy blinks, a few disjointed sentences, assures the man that the team is alright a few times and then watches him drop back off again. He stalls for a few seconds, taking solace in watching the man sleep all while trying not to dwell on what this flight back could have looked like and where Jason could have been lying.

He steps away to find that Brock has relocated to sleep on the bench nearby Clay. His own brand of quiet support.

Well there's two out of the three moving past things, and sooner than maybe even Ray was hoping for. That just leaves… Ray glances over to watch Sonny still stubbornly sitting off by himself drinking a beer.

Most of the other guys have opted out on this trip back. They usually save it for the end of a successful op and as much as he told Clay otherwise, it's hard to feel that about this one quite yet. Maybe with some time and perspective they will all find it easier to look back and appreciate the fact that they saved 34 people from a lifetime of suffering while managing to disrupt a commodity chain used to supply numerous transnational crime organizations.

It just doesn't feel like a win right now.

But that's never stopped Bravo 3 before. Sonny has always had more of a "win or lose, you booze" kind of policy.

Ray returns back to the operations center still assembled towards the front of the plane. As he approaches, Blackburn lifts his head from the report he's reading and asks "Feel better now?"

"What do you mean?"

Eric gives him a knowing smile "You made your rounds, checked on all your guys, now you can relax a bit"

Ray doesn't respond to that, surprised he was so transparent. It doesn't seem to phase his superior though who seems bent on digging into the topic for some reason "Not so easy to be watching from the outside is it?"

Ray doesn't answer that either. He doesn't know how to adequately put into words just how hard it was to sit this one out while having a front row seat to the action, the good and the bad.

It's one thing to sit it out completely. When he's home with the kids and Naima, sure he feels a little sting when the team goes out, but quickly enough he gets engrossed in his life and can't do much more than guess at where the team is and what they are doing until its all over and they're back. Ignorance is bliss.

Today, in contrast has been one of the hardest days of his life. Being so close, being fully aware of everything that was going on, and not being able to actually go out those doors with them or do a damn thing about it when things started going off the rails. Pure torture.

He would have given pretty much anything to be in the field with them as things went down.

"You may have to get used to watching from the outside." Eric fixes him with a pointed stare, and _now_ Ray gets where this is going.

"The kid is going to make a good leader some day." Ray redirects, and not even all that subtly either. Blackburn thankfully takes the hint and lets him have the escape, giving a simple affirmative nod and then returning back to his report.

Ray's too tired and too not ready to talk about whatever his future might hold right now.

For now, all he knows is that he doesn't intend on going anywhere anytime too soon.

So they will have to figure out how to make that work until then considering Clay more than proved he can handle his own business in a 2IC capacity, hell even the Bravo 1 title didn't seem like too much of a stretch. Just like he told Jason over a month ago, the kid is ready.

It's like a goalie controversy where the backup developed sooner than expected and is now pushing for more starts, more big games.

Ray laughs to himself at the fact that even when he isn't trying to explain something to Jason he still automatically uses sports metaphors just out of habit. He will just have to trust that their team Captain will find a way to make it work for now because after today it's even harder to consider moving on from the team and from his brothers.

But at least he knows that whenever that time comes, and even if it's sooner than maybe he would like judging by Blackburn's demeanor, he will be leaving them in good hands. Capable hands.

The kid more than proved that today.

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_I know __every time__ I promise updates will be quicker ( I should probably give up on that) although this time you guys have only yourselves to blame with all the awesome stories being posted for seal team week. Too much reading and not enough editing on my part. _

_Just one final epilogue to come_


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! No I didn't forget about finishing this one although everyone else has probably long forgotten the story line. The only good thing about this current shitty world situation is that its giving me lots of time to write._

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Jason is far too familiar with waking up in strange beds in foreign countries. A statement that is neither as impressive nor as "sonny-like" as that sounds.

He has traveled to an impressive number of countries in his long career and slept in a wide varieties of hooches ranging from 5 star hotels (one glorious time) to what often amounts to a hoodie or a jacket thrown on a hard floor. He figures over the last 10 years he has maybe spent less than 100 nights a year in his own bed on average, even less over the last few years if you don't count rays couch in that total.

Also sprinkle in there an unfortunately high number of nights spent at a long list of various medical facilities and that one very forgettable night spent in kurdish captivity.

Suffice to say waking up in the same bed or even in safety is not a guarantee in his world and as a matter of habit now he starts running a situation check before he even opens his eyes most mornings. While normal people might be enjoying the cozy blanket cocoon and wishing for more sleep or thinking about their to do list for the day he is already busy trying to figure out where he is, in what country and what bed before his eyes even open.

Without moving a muscle he automatically listens for familiar sounds that speak of safety to him.

Right now Brock's surprisingly loud snores for an otherwise quiet guy are alarmingly absent, as are the rest of his brother's familiar breathing and sleeping patterns. Next up, in a habit he really needs to break, he listens for the creaks of the floor in his house and the not so quiet sounds Mikey used to make while trying to play Nintendo after curfew. And then a second later when he remembers the hairpin turns his life has taken recently he shifts gears to straining to hear the muted traffic and constant barking noises he's come to associate with his new, emptier apartment.

All of those sounds are missing and instead he quickly makes out other equally familiar and equally unwelcome sensations.

_The buzz of the machines, the cool breeze of oxygen up his nose, the pinch of an IV and tubes regretfully stuck places he wishes they weren't._

_Hospital. Dammnit. _

There's no official place for it in his jacket, and it's probably more of a nuisance than a skill his superiors would appreciate, but even not fully with it, maybe higher than a kite he can orient himself enough to recognize a hospital.

That realization is enough adrenaline to clear away some of the fog, to make him really pay attention to what's wrong with him and by association what happened to him. And even more importantly what might have happened to his team.

_Headache. Pain across his chest and lower limbs that's just kind of everywhere. _

_Cold. Tired. _

_Hard to breathe. _

If he's lucky. And there is no head injury. And the drugs aren't too high. He can usually piece it together pretty quickly.

_Fire..._

_Falling..._

_Darkness…_

_Alone…_

_He doesn't remember his team being there_

That has him fighting like hell to wake up fully.

He pries his heavy eyes open, heart racing and stomach clenching. Jason blinks through the blurr and the dimmed lights to distinguish some shapes around the room. He finds them in their regular positions, like clockwork. Ray in the chair to his left. Brock at the window. Trent to his right, staring at the machines and Sonny pacing at the foot of his bed.

But that still leaves him one short… Clay, where's Clay? He struggles to remember what happened. Memories of explosions and fire and darkness mix together with images of bombed out streets and destroyed bars. Now he's back in Manilla staring down at Clay on the ground and his heart rate increases. The monitor registers the sudden change, sounding off like a timer ticking down to the next explosion which only makes him more agitated.

Jason starts to move. The team needs to move. They need to get to safety.

He jumps as a hand settles firmly on his shoulder. Ray leans in close and whispers quietly "We're all fine. The team is ok. You're gonna be fine. Stand down"

And that's enough for right now. Jason takes him at his word, centers himself on the calming, familiar voice and lets himself drifts back down into the darkness.

Each time he wakes it's a little clearer, a little easier to and stay awake for conversations and a little easier to remember what's said. That help fills in a few blanks beyond what he already cobbled together and he gets a better idea of where he is and what happened through bits and pieces of information that he collects and stores.

They're in Lisbon, Portugal. A human trafficking raid gone badly.

The fire and the falling was an explosion that sent him tumbling down a tunnel shaft faster than he intended and left him with a broken hip, some cracked ribs, one hell of a concussion and a nasty slice wound on his hip and leg.

As his head gradually stops trying to hammer its way out of his skull and he manages to think things through with a bit more complexity he puts his newly rediscovered cognitive skills to work on several important tasks.

First he starts planning all the PT sessions he is going to make Sonny run once he is back on his feet. At least one set of hill sprints for every single damn old man joke involving broken hips the Texan has subjected him to plus any other creative torture he can add on the side.

But old and busted or not, he rapidly starts to feel better through sheer stubbornness and determination to get the hell out of this hospital and back to base sometime this century. And that's when he starts to work on the second thing. To see right through the bullshit excuses and wonder what is actually going on with his missing team member. He learned with interest that Clay led a successful op in his absence and presumed death, but he's throwing a flag on the notion that the kid is still dealing with paperwork or can possibly have this many follow up meetings.

Jason confirms that there is nothing physically wrong with the kid beyond a broken hand. Confirms it through multiple sources but doesn't really believe it until he's shaken awake from a nightmare one night. Comes straight out of a dark fiery hole to another dark room illuminated by machines and a crack of light from the hallway as the door closes on a familiar shape heading out into the hall.

For a second he isn't sure if he just imagined him there but there's a barely visible and rapidly filling imprint in the soft plastic seat cushion beside him that is both reassuring and concerning all at the same time.

Clay was there. Except apart from the one clandestine visit the kid is noticeably absent.

Normally the kid is borderline clingy when anyone is injured. Bravo 6 has learnt some good (and some bad) habits from Bravo 3 beyond what Jason _ever_ could have hoped or anticipated back when his number three couldn't stand to be in the same room as the newbie. Now, Clay takes after Sonny, and hell probably Jason himself, in how he responds to teammates being injured or ill. They leave the overly affectionate, touchy feely nonsense to others on the team and prefer to say what needs to be said through actions. Spenser has been known to lurk the hallways whenever one of his teammates is injured. The kid rarely leaves and floats in and out of the room ensuring ice chips are filled, smuggling in food in, or whatever other tangible thing he can do to try to help the situation. His actions say just as much about how deeply he cares as someone like Ray who has no problem straight up saying it, or Trent who will sternly lecture and nag his fondness for his team.

In this case, Clay's absence is speaking just as loudly for him but the message is completely different.

So no, he doesn't actually need Ray to tell him that something is off with the kid. Although after three days Ray does finally give up on pretending everything is fine and admits that the kid's been a little wrapped up in his head since the mission and might need a pep talk.

It isn't until the next morning, the one Jason is hoping will be his last day in captivity, when Clay finally drags his butt in to visit in the light of day. Perhaps he sensed that Jason already had a mission plan in place that involved Ray wheeling him straight to Clay's hooch as soon as he was sprung so he could knock some sense into the dolt.

Jason is surprised, but pleases when his morning situation check reveals Clay still sitting in the chair this time, engrossed in a book. Jason lies silently for a second and uses the time to study the blonde. Clay is hunched over onto one arm rest, awkwardly balancing the hardcover on his crossed knee, brow furrowing in concentration as he tries to flip to the next page with only one hand.

Hayes frowns as his eyes catch on the cast and then some previously unmentioned colourful bruises that decorate his hairline and aren't quite hidden by Spenser's messy mop.

He knew it was a rough mission all around and that Sonny got a few ribs dinged up, Brock's sporting some impressive shiners and he had already heard about Clay's not-so-sprained wrist that was actually a broken hand. Thankfully all of that will heal relatively quickly. Hell, probably long before most of his ailments do. Despite his retorts to the texan he doesn't actually bounce back as quick as he used to anymore. But, what he's more concerned about right now is the dark circles under the kid's eyes that tell him sleep has been hard to come by.

They carry a lot of demons in their work. Jason may have the bone weary tiredness going on from blood loss and concussion but its clear Spenser is fatigued for a whole different reason. Jason can almost see the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders right now.

Finally he clears his throat and speaks "So what, you weren't happy with the number 2? Figured you'd bump me off and go a little higher?"

Clay starts at his gravelly voice and the unexpected question. The heavy book on his lap tips precariously and almost goes overboard until Clay spastically slams his good arm down on top and manages to keep it in place.

The kid glances quickly up at the disturbance and then scowls and tries to recover some of his pride and nonchalance when he realizes what happened

Jason smiles and shrugs innocently, ignoring the pull on his ribs.

"Oh come on. A little funny? Maybe eventually?"

Clay rolls his eyes and looks back down at his book, refusing to bite on Jason's attempt at a humorous segway into what promises to be a heavier conversation eventually.

The reaction is so predictably Clay that it rips an unexpected and ill advised chuckle from him. He manages to bite back the full laugh that tries to follow but it's too late and the damage is done igniting sharp pain across his chest that steals his breath. Jason's eyes squeeze shut and he pants shallowly, only vaguely registering movement around him until he feels Clay place a pillow gently into his lap. He holds it gratefully against his aching ribs, putting a soft pressure onto them and trying to breath shallowly.

They sit in silence for a moment while Jason slowly recovers.

By the time pain subsides to a tolerable level Clay has retaken his seat and is pretending not to be paying any attention to his boss on the bed. The stubborn dolt is staring intently at his book as if he is engrossed in reading it again even though no pages are actually flipping.

It probably was too much to hope for that they could easily joke their way to whatever is stuck in the kids craw and fix it without going deeper into a whole bunch of emo crap.

Ok fine then. Doing this the hard way it is. He sighs softly and goes for a different, more direct tactic.

"From what I hear you followed your instincts and got the team through a rough one."

There is heavy silence and Jason internally wishes desperately for the ability to get out of the bed and go force an answer or any sort of reaction out of the sullen kid. Instead he wills the kids to play ball. For once in his life _just play ball _ because Jason doesn't have the energy or the capacity to push it and the only thing he really has going for him right now is he has had plenty of chances to pump the others for info and get several different versions of what happened.

Thankfully a second later Clay does finally offer something to work with.

"Too late."

It's abrupt, and bitter, and Jason barely catches the two words as they slip quietly out If there was any doubt that Spenser was blaming himself for the outcome, the tone pretty much settles it.

_Too late_ though? The response initially has Jason confused. He was more expecting Spenser to be struggling with some of the field decisions, but from what he knows they were all timely so that sentiment doesn't make he's had a lot of time to think back through what he remembers and what he's been told about the mission over the last couple days and try to figure out what went wrong and what might have crawled up Spenser's butt. Now, he's keying in on one particular moment during their final briefing where Clay was unusually reluctant to voice his he is more and more sure that his acting number two held something back there and perhaps he now regrets it.

Working off that theory he takes a stab at keeping the conversation going before Clay can slam his walls back up.

"So live and learn from it and next time you speak up sooner. That's something Ray had to find a balance with too because I don't know everything and sometimes his ideas are definitely better. So never be afraid to voice them. Even if it's just a bad gut feeling at the beginning of the mission, I want all the information on the table."

Clay shifts uncomfortably under his gaze and Jason knows he's on the right track.

He continues on with a wry smile "Don't get me wrong though, Ray also has to pick the right moments and ways to bring things up. It's a finely tuned number two skill that they don't teach you in green team. I'm pretty sure Ray only hits me with a small percentage of all the things he probably would like to. He has to pick his battles wisely and focus on the mission critical stuff rather than all the faults he probably could key in on otherwise I would want to pummel him all the time and we wouldn't get very far."

That gets a laugh out of Spenser and loosens the heavy atmosphere in the hospital room.

"For what it's worth there's no doubt in my mind that you are destined to be a leader on a team. Hell, maybe you are the future of Bravo in 30 or so years when I finally hang up my boots."

Spenser lets out a suspiciously timed cough that's probably actually a poorly stifled laugh. Jason ignores it because they both know that number is a stretch, and the end of his career is probably closer than either of them want it to be.

"I think there is a lot you can learn in a number two spot first though. Things that will make you a better, well rounded leader down the road. I know you have a lot to offer, and that you are ambitious. Don't think that goes unseen. But Ray isn't going anywhere quite yet so at least for the time being we are going to have to find some ways to give you some more opportunities within the current structure. Ones that are going to benefit the team. We can discuss it with Ray, make sure everyone is on board and that it goes a little smoother this time.'

Clay gives a hard nod at that, visibly brightening at the prospect.

"Well alright then. You have my word I will keep finding ways to push you. From the sounds of things you rose to the occasion and handled the shitshow that got dumped on your lap this mission. But that doesn't mean we can't keep building skills so that you are more confident and more ready for whatever life might throw at Bravo next."

Behind Clay's shoulder and through the glass walls of his room, Jason notices Sonny Quinn coming down the hallway for a visit. Satisfied with the outcome of this intervention he decides to push his luck for the day and see if he can't force a resolution to one more issue while he's at it. He gives a large only semi-fake yawn and closes his eyes as if he is drifting off for one of his necessary mid morning naps. What good is getting your bell rung (or more accurately dropped a few stories) and losing a good chunk of your blood volume if you can't use the resulting exhaustion as a convenient excuse to exit a conversation when you want to.

Under heavy eyelashes and mostly closed lids, he watches the Texan come into the room with two coffees in a cardboard tray. Sonny sets the tray down on the seat next to Clay, plucks one coffee out and proceeds across to the other side of the room to lean against the window.

Jason rolls his eyes at the mixed messaging.

From what Ray's told him these two are the only ones still having trouble moving past the little team drama that sparked up in the field on the op. He isn't really all that surprised, both because of their stubborness and also because sometimes it's a lot harder to forgive those you are closest to. The right words are just harder to find when there is more riding on them, more history, more to lose.

But maybe there is some hope here. A gesture that doesn't require any words, men of action after all. A proverbial olive branch in the form of a coffee that Clay plucks from the tray with his good hand.

The silence lingers for a moment, awkward and unpleasant to the point where Jason almost considers giving up on his ruse and "waking up" to help speed things along. The only sound is the scratching of Clay's nails as they do battle with the plastic lid. He fights to get the lid off one handed and pulls at the plastic causing it to rub and squeak painfully against the sides of the styrofoam cup.

Sonny watches him struggle for a minute, clearly unsure if he can help his friend or not. Finally the man makes a move, getting up and crossing the room. He lifts the tray, sits himself in the chair next to Clay and reaches for the cup all in one smooth decisive sequence.

"Here gimmie that." He doesn't actually give Clay an option, plucking the cup right out of his hands.

Sonny opens it the lid effortlessly using two hands and then rips open 3 packets of sugar and adds them. He mumbles something barely audible about girly coffee and then hands it back to Clay who acknowledges the gesture with a muted but appreciative sounding grunt.

There's another pause where Sonny looks like he is considering bolting back to safety on the other side of the bed but instead the man clears his throat and says louder, if still somewhat tentatively "Well with your luck you'd probably drop it and end up with third degree burns. Just what we need"

There's silence for a second and Jason wonders if that was pushing this tentative truce too far too soon.

But instead Clay snorts and starts to shake his head in denial. Then he pauses that movement and inclines it slightly, admitting ruefully "True enough."

Jason smiles and lets his eyes actually shut all the way, confident the pair are well on their way to getting past this awkwardness. Besides there is no one else for them to talk to right now while he takes a quick power nap so they will have to keep moving forward.

Sure enough the last thing he hears before he gives into the real exhaustion that snuck up on him is Sonny demanding "So, you gonna let me sign that thing or what."

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_Phewwww…. This one is finally done. It was a bit outside my comfort zone to write this much dialogue/action sequences but it was worth it for all the Ray/Clay/ at the end. Hope everyone enjoyed it. _

_I do have another story started. I've been working on it along the way which is partly why this last chapter took so long, but I'm going to get a couple chapters ready to go before I start posting so that the updates go a little smoother than on this story. _

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